Times Have Changed
by binawitch01
Summary: Things were going great for Alyssa and Team Family. The prison was safe, people were happy, the walkers were kept at bay. But, of course, that didn't last. The disease happened, the Governor returned, and the prison broke. What the hell are they gonna do now? Carl/OC Sequel to, "The World We Live In." Read that first!
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Hello, everyone! First of all, I would just like to state: I AM SO SORRY for being MIA for 8 months! Last time I updated, it was around August, and I promised, "My new fanfiction will be out next week!"_

_...8 months later I finally put it up. I am so sorry, haha. Whoops. I just never got around to making it. I just had no ideas for season four whatsoever, and I got so busy with school and my new puppy. But, if this counts at all, the first chapter is finally up, and hopefully I can get back into the swing of updating once every week. That's the plan, at least._

_Let me tell you guys, as I was writing this, I read my last story, and I found grammar mistakes everywhere! I also thought that a lot of the stuff was so OOC for the characters, and I just generally thought, "The World We Live In," was just so childish. Thank all of you that have stuck with my bad writing! I'm trying this time around, to not be as silly with Alyssa and Carl's relationship, and Alyssa and Michonne's relationship. I'm trying to add more detail and make up some more plot. Feel free to to tell me if something just doesn't sound right during the story. _

_PS: I'm not sure how old Carl is in seasons four and five, so let's just say he is fifteen and Alyssa's fourteen-turning-fifteen in season four. 'Kay? ;)_

_Well, here you go!_

_Disclaimer: I do not own any of, "The Walking Dead," or any of its characters or plotlines. I just own Alyssa, my OC._

* * *

I saw a squirrel in a tree, just a few paces from me and Daryl. He gave me an encouraging look; one that said, "It's all yours," and I grinned. I raised my bow, grabbed an arrow from my quiver, and notched it. I moved my arms up, just slightly, and let the arrow soar. The squirrel fell to the ground, my arrow not even an inch from its eye, in a dead heap.

I retrieved my arrow with a quiet, "Dammit!"

Daryl picked up the dead squirrel, and nodded approvingly, "Your aims gettin' better."

I shook my head, "I used to get them in the eye each time."

"That was before your wrist broke. You can't shoot perfectly either. Healin' takes time; you gotta deal with it."

I kicked some dirt, "I know. How many squirrels did we get?"

He checked his pouch, "Two rabbits, and looks like about six or seven squirrels. Wanna head back now?"

I nodded, "That's probably all we're gonna get anyway."

He and I trekked through the forest and made our way back to the prison, where Rick and Carl opened the gates for us. Daryl and I walked into cell block C, where we put the hunting bag with the other food, our hunting equipment with the other weapons (everyone knew that the crossbow, bow, and quiver are ours, so no one touches them,) and we washed the animal blood from our hands. We walked outside and went to the courtyard, where Carol was serving food to the others. While walking, many of the people eating said hello to Daryl and a few aimed to me, and Daryl just shook it off. He didn't understand that he was basically famous here.

Getting to the food stand, we sat on two stools, and Carol said, "Just so you two know, I liked you first."

I grinned as she gave me a food bowl and Daryl grabbed some from his bowl with his hands, saying, "Stop," to her.

"You know, Rick brought in a lot of them, too," Daryl said.

"Not recently," Carol told him, "Give the stranger sanctuary, keeping people fed, you're gonna have to learn to live with the love."

"Right," he rolled his eyes.

"I need you to see something," she said, quickly dried her hands on a towel, and asked another kid, "Patrick, you wanna take over?"

"Yes, ma'am," the kid with glasses nodded eagerly, and walked behind the food stand to where Carol was cooking. Patrick, the kid, was from Woodbury like the others. He quickly became Carl's friend. I was still wary of him, but he seemed harmless enough.

As we were walking away, Patrick called out, "Uh, Mr. Dixon, I just wanted to thank you for bringing that deer back yesterday. It was a real treat, sir. And I'd be honored to shake your hand." He held out his hand to Daryl.

Carol smiled to Daryl, and I held back laughter as Daryl licked three of his fingers then gave Patrick a rough handshake. Patrick didn't seem to mind, though. In fact, he gave Daryl a gracious smile and he began to work on the grill.

Carol lead us to the makeshift armory we have near the gates, where we saw people in aprons stabbing walkers through the fence. The amount of walkers was almost overwhelming at the fences, and its annoying both me and Carl that his dad won't let us work fence duty. I continued to eat my deer stew with a spoon as we stopped and looked at the full courtyard.

"About today," Carol started. "I don't know if we're gonna be able to spare a lot of people for the run."

"That place is good to go," Daryl answered with food in his mouth. "We're gonna move on it."

"Yeah," she drew out the 'yeah,' with uncertainty. "The thing is, we had a pretty big buildup overnight," and she pointed to tower three, "Dozens more towards three. It's getting as bad as last month." I cringed at that part. That was when Glenn and Maggie got married, and the fence buildup was more than we could handle. That was the last time I used my gun.

"They don't spread out anymore," she explained.

"The more of us sitting here, the more we're drawing them out," Daryl agreed. "You get enough of those damn fence-clingers, they start to herd up."

"They're pushing against the fences again," Carol nodded.

"I could help, you know," I said, "I'm not useless."

They both looked at me and began to shake their heads.

"You know that it isn't up to us, Alyssa," Carol chided.

"If it were, you'd be on fence duty, but we ain't," Daryl added. They both knew I was more than capable to handle the walkers, but, then again, they weren't the only two in charge. Unless the others agreed, which they were never going to, I was stuck babysitting and cleaning dirty dishes, with the occasional hunt with Daryl.

"It's manageable," Carol continued, "But unless we get ahead of it, not for long."

She looked at Daryl with a smile and said, "Sorry, Pookie."

He nudged her shoulder and walked away, and I was looking at the fence workers and eyed them with envy. I wanted to be doing that.

Carol and I walked away from the small armory and I saw Zach and Daryl grabbing stuff for the run. I also want to go, but nobody would let me. I'm a "kid" so I get treated like one, even though I've done things like this, and worse, before.

I sighed loudly as I walked back with Carol, so she asked me, "Are you going to be at story time today?"

I nodded, "Should I bring my knife for demonstration?"

She nodded, "Sure," and we continued to walk back. As we got to the courtyard, she told me to go find Carl and help out at the barn.

I walked out to the gardens and found Rick and Hershel planting another sprout. I'm pretty sure it was green beans, but I couldn't remember. We have so many now, so I can't even tell. I gave them each a wave and a smile and I walked over to the makeshift barn, where I saw Carl trying to feed Violet, one of our pigs that had gotten sick.

"Hey there, Cowboy," I said to him as he gave up, but the left the food in front of her.

"Hey Angel," he answered as he turned to me, "What's up?"

I shook my head slightly, "Nothing, really. How's Violet?"

He lowered his head, "Not good. She's worse than before."

I looked at her, slumped in the corner of the pig pen, "I'm sure she'll get better."

I put on muddy boots that were about two sizes too big, and I hopped into the pen with the pigs and Violet. I looked at the other pigs that were around me, aware that they were going to be food, and frowned. I hated thinking about that, but it's the truth. That's why Rick doesn't like it when we name them.

I walked through the mud and kneeled next to Violet, petting her body as she stayed slumped in the corner. She snorted and sneezed, but that was about all she did. For the most part she kept sleeping. I continued to pet her, hoping that I could at least give her some form of comfort because she wasn't too long for this world. I gave her a half hug on her back, then heard a high whistle. There was only one person who whistles like that outside of the fence.

I got out of the pen as fast as I could, as Rick and Carl ran to open the fence gate for my mom. She's finally back, after a few days. She'll leave for days at a time now, and it scares me a bit. I know she handles herself well, but I just can't help it. Anything can happen outside the gates.

When she got through the door, Rick greeted, "Glad to see you."

She smiled, "Glad to see you, too."

"Mom!" I rushed to her and gave her a hug, which she gladly returned.

She turned to Carl, "Somebody hit the jackpot."

"No way!" he grinned wildly as she pulled out a whole bunch of comic books and candy bars from her bag for him, "Awesome! Thank you."

"I get to read 'em when you're done," mom gave him a grin and turned to Rick, "And I found this."

She handed him what looked like to be an electrical razor as Carl grabbed the horse's reins and walked to the stables.

She gave Rick a sly grin, "Your face is losing the war."

Rick chuckled, staring at the metal object, "You gonna stay a while?"

I looked up at her, and she gave a small nod, "Just a little while."

I watched as the small group of people going on the run today drove down the road, being lead by Daryl on his motorcycle.

"Well, look who's back?" he said to mom.

"Didn't find him," she replied, and he shrugged. I honestly don't think she's ever going to find him.

"I'm thinking of looking over near Macon," she planned, and I rolled my eyes at her.

"Mom, you just got back," I told her, releasing my death grip hug on her. "Relax a bit."

She shook her head and replied forcefully, "It's worth a shot. He's still out there. Remember what he did to you?"

I rubbed my bad wrist and the memories came flying back. I didn't want them to.

Thankfully, Daryl talked before I had to, "70 miles of walkers. You might run into a few unneighborly types. Is it?"

Mom stayed silent, and I mentally thanked Daryl for talking some sense into her.

He turned to Rick, "I'm gonna go check out the Big Spot. The one I was talking about earlier."

"Good luck," I told him and gave him a half-hug, then grabbed the reins from Carl's hand, beginning to walk the horse back to the large stables. I began to block out the conversation, but heard the words, "I'll go," coming out of my mother's mouth.

Carl reacted faster than I did, "But you just got here!"

"And I'll be back," she answered, a half grin on her face.

"Mom..." I whispered under my breath.

She looked at me and walked over, resting her hands on my shoulders, "I'll be back, okay?"

I gave a huff, then looked up at her, "Okay. I love you."

"Love you, too." she kissed the top of my forehead, then jogged to the car behind Daryl and hopped in. I watched as Carl and Rick opened and closed the gates for the group.

Carl and I walked in silence up to the stables, putting the horse in its place and taking the old leather saddle off, resting it on the large fence surrounding the stables.

"Going to check the snares?" Carl called to his dad, who was walking up to where we were.

"I am. You're not," Rick answered his son, "Do your chores. Read comics. Maybe some books, too. Hang out with Patrick."

I looked up from the saddle I was cleaning and said to Rick, "What am I? Chopped liver?"

He gave me a smirk and told Carl again, "Hang out with Patrick."

I rolled my eyes, "Typical," and went back to cleaning to saddle.

Rick continued, "Maybe go to story time."

Chills went down my back as Rick said that.

Story time? Carl?

Crap.

I tried not to look suspicious as Rick sent a gaze my way.

"Dad, that's for kids," Carl answered dismissively, and my posture relaxed. Good.

"Alyssa goes to story time, she's not complaining," Rick countered.

"Correction: Alyssa works at story time," I challenged playfully, trying to ease the tension buildup in me.

Rick looked at me, "Not helping."

"Not trying to!" I answered in a sing-song voice.

The cop-turned-farmer rolled his eyes at me and patted the horse, "You two, brush her down," and walked away from us, talking to Hershel.

"I want to brush her this time," I told Carl, running from the saddle and instead to the charcoal brown horse, petting its mane.

"You brushed her last time!" Carl complained.

"Yeah, and I'm brushing her again. Deal with it," I gave him a wink as I hopped in and grabbed a brush hanging from a rusty nail in the wall, then went to the horse itself and groomed her. Carl laid against the stable wall, an open comic from my mom in his hands, a chocolate bar hanging out of his front pocket. I smiled at him; he seemed to be enjoying himself.

After I finished grooming the horse, I set the brush back in the rusty nail on the wall, joining Carl and leaning against the wall.

He raised an eyebrow, "Yes?"

"What?" I asked, feigning innocence, acting like I wasn't planning anything.

"You have the look," he answered, lowering the comic from his eyes, holding it in one hand.

"What look?" I furrowed my brows, a playful glint in my eye.

"The look," Carl repeated.

"Oh, that clears _everything _up," I rolled my eyes at him, giving him a smirk.

"The look that says you have something planned," he tried to explain. "You're going to do something. What is it?"

I gave him another grin and drawled out, "I don't knoowwww," and brought my hand up to push back my hair.

And, three. Two. One.

I yanked the chocolate bar out of his front pocket, running as fast as I could away from him.

"Hey!" he shouted to me. "Alyssa!"

I laughed gleefully as I ran, my delicious trophy gleaming in my hands. I could hear his feet pounding the ground behind me, so I continued my run up to the courtyard, where he and I gained the attention of others.

I ran and ran until there was suddenly a person in front of me.

"Patrick!" I breathed, panting and shoving the bar into his hands, "Take this. Guard it with your life."

"I- wah?" he questioned as I continued running to an empty picnic table, crouching behind it.

Carl ran to Patrick and managed to pant out, "Where is she? Alyssa?"

"She- uh," Patrick scratched the back of his head with his free hand. "Alyssa went- she ran-"

"She gave you the bar!" Carl exclaimed, wrenching it out of Patrick's sweaty palm. "Thank you."

"Nice guarding it," I said to the coughing kid, and walked over to the two of them.

"I-" Patrick started, and I gave him a smile.

"I'm just joking, Patrick," I heard him sigh beneath his breath, and turned to Carl with an open hand. "I'll have that back now, thanks."

"Nuh uh, not happening," he shook his head. "My chocolate."

Patrick coughed, and we turned towards him. He gave a sheepish smile and left, saying he was getting a drink of water.

"Please?" I gave the cowboy a pleading look, and he shook his head again, "Please?"

He thought for a moment, "On one condition."

"What condition?" I asked him, seeing him make that devilish smirk that I love.

He pointed to his cheek, grinning.

"You are so cheesy, you know?" I rolled my eyes, walking towards him.

"I know," he nodded. "I don't care."

I closed the space in between us, wrapping my arms on his neck. My lips pressed against his sweaty cheek, giving him a kiss. Then the other cheek. And finally, his lips, which lingered longer than the others. His arms wrapped around my waist, hands pressing firmly against the small of my back, and mine fingered through his hair, which had grown considerably the last few months.

We pulled apart, grinning at each other while Carl unwrapped the chocolate bar in his hands. He broke the chocolate in half and handed me a piece. I thanked him, taking a large bite out of the sweet, savory goodness.

I heard a coughing sound behind us, and turned to look. It was Patrick, holding a half full bottle of water in one hand. The other held a soccer ball.

"I was wondering if you two wanted to play?" he asked us in his squeaky, insecure voice, "Unless, you have other plans, then I guess I'll just-"

"We'll play," Carl's voice interrupted, and Patrick gave a wide grin in return.

"Actually, you two can go play," I answered Patrick. "I'm supposed to go set up story time."

"Okay," Patrick nodded and coughed, "See you later, miss."

"Yeah, see you later," I waved to him and Carl as I walked to the door.

"Wait," Carl called and walked up to me quickly, "You're seriously going to story time?"

My heart beat slightly faster, "Yeah. I like to hang out with the kids. It's fun."

"If you say so," he murmured under his breath, "See you later."

I continued walking into cell block C, glad that Carl didn't ask any more questions about story time. He'd be royally pissed off if he knew what really happened there.

I took a short stride into my cell. It was still shared by Beth, which I liked. She was a close friend of mine, and we kept it that way. Currently she was watching over Judith in the little daycare center we have, most likely singing her heart out to the young baby.

I looked into the top drawer of my dresser, grabbing the long knife that I kept with me since the beginning of all this, and headed to the library to where Carol was. She had a small stack of books by her side, ranging in color, sophistication, and length. Underneath the table I saw the large box that Carol and I sit atop on during story time. It held all of the weapons for the day, whatever it'll be. Today, knives. Tomorrow, maybe a Glock. The next, an axe? It holds weapons every day, but the innocent treasure chest design kept us from getting in trouble. No one but the people at story time knew what it really was.

Looking around to make sure I wasn't being watched, I opened the chest and threw my knife in there quickly, closing it while making a loud sound.

"What're we reading today, Carol?" I asked her, and she tossed me a small blue book with a flower on the cover.

As the kids grouped into the room, another adult walked into the room as well, as if to keep watch for us.

I gave them all a smile as Carol and I sat on the treasure chest, Carol opening the book in her small hands. Currently, the kids (Lizzie, Mika, Luke, Molly, and Patrick,) plus me, Carol, and the other adult, were in the room.

Carol began to read the book out loud to the kids, picking up from where we left off a few days ago, "The children fastened their eyes upon their bit of candle and watched it melt slowly and pitilessly away. Saw the half inch of wick stand alone at last. Saw the feeble flame rise and fall. Climb the thin tower of smoke..."

Carol continued to read as the other adult gave her the signal that he was going to leave. As soon as he has out the door, the book in Carol's hands was shut swiftly, and she and I slid to the floor.

She began to open the chest as Luke asked, "Ma'am, should I take watch now?"

She nodded to the kid, "Yes, Luke, you do that," and he stood and got up to the door, looking into the hallway briefly.

The case finally opened and Carol pulled out a small wooden box with the knives inside it, "Today, we are talking about knives. How to use them, how to be safe with them, and how they could save your lives."

I grabbed my personal knife from the pile, holding it up slightly to the light, "This one alone has saved my life so many times I can't even count. These are dangerous weapons, but used the correct way, they save the lives of many."

"Ma'am's, may I be dismissed?" Patrick asked us abruptly.

Setting my knife back on the showcase board, I raised an eyebrow at him as Carol asked, "What is it?"

"I'm not feeling very well."

"Sometimes you're gonna have to fight through it. What if you wind up out there alone? You just give up because you're feeling bad?"

"No, it's just, I-I," he stuttered slightly, "I don't want to yack on somebody."

Lizzie, on the ground in front of him, moved ever-so-slightly to the left.

"Go," Carol whispered, and Patrick hurriedly went to the door, past Luke, and left.

Carol moved the knife as she went through the lesson plan, "Today, we're gonna learn how to hold a knife, how to stab and slash and where to aim for..." She looked at a bookcase to her left. My eyes followed where hers did. I didn't like what I found.

Carl.

Staring right at me, wide eyes and a mix of confusion and anger in them. He moved just a step closer to where we were.

I couldn't speak for a second, my surprise and sadness mixing, but my lips managed to whisper his name, "Carl," out loud.

"Please," Carol told him, "Don't tell your father."

He shook his head at us, his curls waving as he walked the opposite direction and walked out the door.

Ohmygod.

Dammit!

I looked at Carol beside me, her eyes asking if I wanted to stay. I nodded to her, regaining movement as I grasped my knife in my hands.

You-you want to hold it like this," my shaky voice formed words as my hands showed the kids to grasp the knife's grip on the bottom, and how to lean in with it when fighting. How to twist it when killing a walker, how to yank it from the decaying skull when it did its job. I spoke them out loud, but in my head I was thinking of a million ways to explain to Carl what he just saw.

* * *

I found him an hour later in his cell, just after dusk, his eyes moving across comic book pages at an alarming rate. He was mad. Crap.

I knocked on the wall, and he looked up at me. Then he looked back at the comics.

"Carl," I said aloud, my voice almost echoing in the room.

"Go away," he whispered, turning a page in his comic book.

"No," I answered, walking through the doorway to his bed, which he was sitting on.

"Go away," he repeated, dashing his eyes around the pages and blatantly ignoring me.

"No," I replied again, sitting at the very edge of his bed, away from him. "We need to talk."

He slammed the comic book on his beside table, giving me a long, hard glare, "Yeah, we need to talk. What the HELL was that?!"

I grimaced at the venom lacing his words, and I felt bad. Really bad.

"Teaching them how to survive?" I answered like it was a question.

"That was against the council rules! You know that! Do you do that every story time?"

I tried to keep my voice leveled, but failed to, "Yes. We do."

His eyes at glared at me, his jaw clenching and he threw his legs to the edge of the bed, "You do. That's great. Just great."

"What were we supposed to do? You and I at least know how to use weapons. They don't stand a chance against what's out there! Lizzie almost died just a few weeks ago because a walker got in!"

"So? She's fine! She doesn't need training!" he raised his voice just a little more as he jumped off the bed and paced around his room.

"No, she's not," I stood up, looking at him as he stopped pacing, "That's when this started. Carol and I both agreed that the kids need more training. It was only one walker, Carl. ONE walker. Just imagine if it had been two. Or three. Or a whole HERD. They all would die. They need to know what they're up against, and how they take it down. They don't know shit, Carl. Why lead them to death when there's something we can do about it?" my breathing became ragged and shallow, my anger getting the best of me.

I heard him sigh, and I looked up at him. He was closer to me than before, "It's only been going on since the attack?"

I gave him a nod, "Yeah. 'Bout thirty days."

He wiped sweat off his forehead, giving me a long look, "Dad's not gonna like this."

"Don't tell him," I said instantly.

"You know I have to," he said softly, lightly grabbing my forearm.

I sighed, resting my forehead against his chest. "I know."

He slowly pulled us down to sit in his bed, the blankets thrown haphazardly to the other side. My ear, pressed against his chest, listened to the pounding of his heart, the steady rhythm calming me down. His chin rested against the top of my head. His arms were thrown against my sides, holding me close to him. My arms did the same to him; holding him close, my hands resting on his back.

We sat together for a short, quiet moment, just the two of us. Short and sweet, but of course it didn't last forever.

"I have to go," I whispered softly, kissing his cheek. "Beth'll want to know where I am."

It was rounding dusk, so it was just about curfew.

He nodded, "Okay," and released me from his arms. My body became instantly cold as his moved away from mine.

"Goodnight," I whispered.

"Goodnight," he repeated to me. "Don't let the bed bugs bite."

I rolled my eyes at the silly saying as I left the room, heading to mine. Looking at the opening, I saw Daryl leaving my room.

I raised an eyebrow at him as I neared the room.

"Zach's dead," he whispered to me, and pointed to the door. "Had to tell Beth."

"Oh," my heart dropped at the news. Zach was a good person; he didn't deserve to die. "How'd she take it?"

Daryl shook his head, "Don't know. Seems fine, didn't cry. Keep an eye on her, though."

I gave him a nod, walking into my room, "Goodnight, Daryl."

He just grunted in response. Opening the curtain to my room, I saw Beth scribbling quickly into her diary.

"Hey," I greeted softly, looking at the sign that read, 'Zero Days Without an Accident.' This morning, it was at thirty. "Daryl told me the news. Are you okay?"

She gave me a nod of reassurance, setting the diary on our dresser, "I'm fine. I'm gonna miss him, but I'm glad I got to know him."

I gave her a small smile, "Okay. I'm here, if you need me."

She looked at me with kindness, and gave me a hug, "I know, but I'm fine. I swear."

I hopped onto the top bunk as she released me, getting into the brightly colored sheets. "If you say so. Goodnight, Beth."

"Sweet dreams," she replied, turning off the lamp in our room, leaving us in a comfortable darkness.

* * *

_A/N: Hope you all liked it! Please review!_


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Hey, lovelies. Wow, only one chapter, and I already have two reviews! ^.^ Thanks. It's only two reviews, but I know how these things go. Hardly anyone ever reviews on the first chapter, so thanks. And, as always, on with the story!_

* * *

I awoke to the sound of the sheet gently rustling. I groaned, stretching my arms high above my head, and attempted to rub sleep out of my eyes. I looked at the sheet door, then beneath me, seeing an empty bed. Beth must've already went to check Judith.

"Alyssa?" someone called behind the sheet, gently knocking the wall beside it.

I hopped from my top bunk to the floor, calling. "Come in!"

The sheet moved swiftly, revealing my mother on the other side. I gave her a quick hug as I threw on my denim jacket.

I frowned at her. "You're leaving again, aren't you?"

She gave me a nod. "He's still out there. He's still a threat."

I sighed, walking with her through the cell block. "When are you going to give up the ghost chase?"

She gave me a stare. "It's not a ghost chase. He's alive, Liz. He needs to be taken out."

"You sound like an assassin." I opened the door to the courtyard, hissing at the sudden sunlight blinding me.

"If it's what gets the job done, then yes, I am." she murmured to me.

I shook my head at her, not bothering to answer her as Rick and Carl made their way towards us. In Rick's hand were the reins to the horse that mom rides on the wild goose chases. He handed her the reins as soon as they were close enough.

"Careful out there." Rick said to her as we walked down the paved path to the gate.

"Always am." She gave him a kind smile with a nod, then turned to Carl and me. "Any requests? Books? Comics? Some stale M&amp;Ms?"

"You're the one that likes stale M&amp;Ms." Carl reminded her with a laugh. It's true; she always steals them from us!

"Then I'll definitely be looking for some." Mom gave a laugh back. She called to Rick, "I'll look for some stuff you like, too."

He gave a nod to her as we walked down the slight slope of the courtyard, making our way to the gate.

"Why don't you wear your hat anymore?" mom asked Carl out of the blue. I raised an eyebrow at her.

"It's not a farming hat." He shrugged. "See you soon?"

"Pretty soon," she answered.

"Better be." I joked lightly with her. Getting to the gate, she mounted the horse, kicking her legs lightly and getting the horse to move forward.

"Stay safe out there, mom." I called out to her as she began to trot down the street.

"I always am." she answered me. "You stay safe, too."

I gave her a nod as she and the horse began to canter.

"She'll be alright." Rick told me, my eyes following the form of my mother slowly going from the prison.

"I know." I nodded to him.

"Carl." Rick jerked his head to the barn, signaling Carl to come with him. I was supposed to go watch the baby with Beth while he took care of the pigs.

Before Carl could follow after his dad, I grabbed his arm, "Wait!"

He raised an eyebrow at me, "Yeah?"

"Did you, ah..." I jerked my head at Rick, who was making his way to the barn. "Tell him yet?"

Realization flashed over his eyes, and he shook his head. "No. Not yet."

"Oh." I replied, unsure of what to say. I released his arm from my grip.

"It'll be fine, you know." he said. "Dad'll get over it. He won't like it, but he'll get over it."

I bit my lip. "I'm not sure about that. You know how he is."

"Hey," I moved my head up, looking into his sea blue eyes as he spoke. "It'll be fine."

I nodded to him, standing with him until his father called for him. He walked to the barn, I walked up the pavement path. Since Beth was already with Judith, I wasn't in any hurry to get into the prison.

I wasn't, until I heard the gunshots.

Lizzie and Mika busted through the side door of cell block D, screaming. "Help! HELP! Please, come quick!"

My feet began to pound against the pavement, running as fast as I could to get to the two blondes.

"What happened?! What's wrong?!" I asked them, finally getting close enough.

"THERE'S WALKERS IN D!" Glenn shouted, running with a gun in his hands and Carol at his side.

"What about C?!" Rick shouted, running his way up the path to us.

"Clear." Sasha panted, Daryl and Tyreese hot on her heels. "We locked the gates to the tombs. Hershel's on guard."

"It ain't a breach." Daryl informed Rick, each of the adults grabbing weapons and making their way to the infected cell block.

Carol handed me a gun, "You're coming with us."

"No, she's not!" Rick argued, grabbing his Python.

"Rick, I can help!" I argued back. "You know how good of a shot I am! Let me help."

He seemed to be having a mental war with himself, but he finally nodded to me, handing me a knife as well. I set it in my sheath on my belt, checking the clip of the gun for bullets and cocking the gun in my hands. I gave Carol a nod, a silent thanks for getting Rick to let me help. She nodded back.

"We followed the plan." Sasha continued to inform the leader. We, as a group, ran to the cell block, holding our weapons up in defense as we opened the door.

The block was in total chaos. There were walkers everywhere, families and loved ones crying over dead bodies, screams and cries everywhere.

Rick and Daryl barked out orders to everyone who'd listen. Move people out, shoot walkers. Get everyone to safety. I began to herd people into cells that were clear. I took out walkers as fast as I could, shooting my gun and stabbing ones that were closer to me. I heard the cries of anguished family members as I killed the reanimated corpses of their loved ones, and it wasn't a happy feeling.

Once I thought the first level was clear and everyone had quieted, I was almost going to walk up the stairs.

Almost.

As I went to the stairs, a mangled walker ran towards me, its hands outstretched in an attempt to grab me. Its long hair was matted, a red blotch on its shoulder (most likely from where it was bit,) and long stains of red flowing from its eyes and its mouth. What was wrong with its eyes? And its mouth?

I took a few steps back, raised my knife, and pushed the walkers shoulder so its back was against the staircase. I leveled my knife with its forehead and plunged it into the decaying skull, giving it a good twist as I watched it fall to the ground. Stepping over the corpse and making my way up the stairs, I heard an arrow fly and sink itself into another walker. Walking to where Daryl, Rick, and Glenn were, I saw a walker in the middle of them.

"Oh, it's Patrick." Daryl solemnly said. My heart sunk as I looked at the dead corpse that used to be my friend, an arrow lodged into the side of his temple. The lines of red were on his cheeks and mouth, too.

"Oh, no." I groaned, looking down at him and feeling a wave of sadness pass through me. He was a good friend.

"That's all of them." Daryl looked around the room, trying to find any walkers that we might've missed. There were none left.

After the walker attack, we had to do damage control to the cell block. The people in the cell block were checked up on by Hershel and Dr. S. The dead bodies were to be put in sheets so we could bury them in the front yard. There were so many of them in the block. How could this have happened?!

I walked around the cell block with Daryl, stabbing the dead bodies on the floor with him in case they reanimated. Rick did the same on the other side of the block.

"Hey, Daryl," Rick called. Daryl and I followed. I watched as Rick stabbed a walker through the bars of a cell. Like the others, it had twin red tears from their eyes, and blood out of its mouth. We called up Dr. S and Hershel to look at the body. Dr. S moved to the side of the walker, kneeling down next to it. Rick did the same to the other side.

"No bites, no wounds." Rick said exasperatedly. "I think he just died."

"Horribly, too." Dr. S added solemnly. "Pleurisy aspiration."

"He chocked to death on his own blood." Hershel finished. "Caused those trails down his face."

"I've seen them before. On a walker outside the fences." Rick told them, shaking his head as he talked.

"I saw them on Patrick, too." Daryl jerked his head over to the limp form of my dead friend.

"They're from the internal lung pressure building up, like if you shake a soda can and pop the top. Only, imagine your eyes, ears, nose and throat are the top." Dr. S diagnosed.

"It's a sickness." I concluded. "From the walkers?"

"No." he shook his head. "These things happened before they were around. Could be pneumococcal. Most likely an aggressive flu strain."

"Someone locked him in just in time." Hershel gestured to the closed cell door.

"Nah, man. Charlie used to sleepwalk. Locked himself in. Hell, he was just eating barbecue yesterday." Daryl looked at his undead friend. "How could somebody die in a day just from a cold?"

"I had a sick pig. Died quick." Rick said, speaking of Violet. "Saw a sick boar in the woods."

"Pigs and birds." Hershel theorized. "That's how these things spread in the past. We need to do something about those hogs."

"Maybe we got lucky. Maybe these two cases are it." Dr. S said.

"No." I said, my heart sinking deeper. "I saw another one. Near the stairs."

Dr. S groaned, pulling a hand through his messy hair. I gave him a sheepish smile.

"Haven't seen anyone be lucky in a long time." Bob walked towards us. "Bugs like to run in close quarters. Doesn't get any closer than this."

"Way to boost morale." I muttered under my breath.

"All of us in here, we've all been exposed." Hershel stated, and we all slumped.

The silence after the firm statement was deafening, everyone having the thought in their heads as we stood.

* * *

I walked with Rick outside, looking through the harsh sunlight as we moved through the courtyard.

"You want the gun back?" I asked him quietly, holding the metal object in my hand.

He hesitated for a second, just a second, then answered. "No. You keep it. You're gonna need it."

I nodded back, making our way around the side of the cell block. As we passed, we saw Maggie and Carl holding my mother from the sides. She was limping.

"Mom!" I called out. "What happened?"

Carl tore himself from my mothers side, running towards me and Rick. I took a step back from him as he got to us.

"Hey, you might want to stay back." Rick told his son, but he didn't listen. "Carl."

Carl grabbed his father, hugging him tight.

"Dad, I'm sorry." Carl sobbed into his fathers shirt. "I didn't see you come out."

"It's okay, I'm here. I'm fine, but back away." Rick lightly pushed his son away, backing up next to me. Carl advanced to me, his arms opened. I backed up more, my hands up, saying softly, "Don't." I looked at anywhere but his face as his arms dropped limply to his sides.

"I had to use one of the guns by the gate. I swear I didn't want to." Carl told his dad.

"I was coming back." mom explained. "I fell. They came out and helped me."

"You all right?" Rick asked. She nodded.

"What happened in there?" Maggie asked. Rick and I looked at each other, unsure of where to start. We watched as a blonde woman from D shuffled in the courtyard, holding a full body bag and sobbing.

"Patrick." I started telling everyone. "He was sick last night. It's some kind of flu. It moves fast."

Carl raised an eyebrow at me.

Rick continued for me. "We think he died and attacked the cell block last night."

I crossed my arms, holding myself tight. The shock on everyone's faces was evident.

"Look, I know he was your friend and I'm sorry." Rick told Carl as he knelt down. "He was a good kid. We lost a lot of good people."

He stood up from the ground, pointing to Maggie, "Glenn and your dad are okay, but they- they were in there. You shouldn't get to close to anyone that might've been exposed, at least for a little while."

Carl took a few steps back from us, getting a hold of my mothers side again.

"Carl, all of you." Rick reiterated, and his son gave a nod in return.

"Stay safe, you guys." I whispered to the three of them as they walked to C.

"Always am." My mother answered, giving me a look as they went into the block. I sighed.

"What're we gonna do?" I asked, brushing my hair out of my face.

"Don't get close to them." Rick answered, as if it were obvious. "Keep our distance. Stay out of the cell block. Hopefully this passes quick, things'll go back to normal."

"Yeah." I nodded. "Hopefully."

He pointed toward the barn. "Check the pigs. See if more of 'em have gotten sick. Tell me if they are. I'm gonna help Daryl bury the bodies."

I gave him another nod, and together we walked down the pathway. I split with him to get to the barn, putting on the muddy boots to hop into the pen. I began to separately check each pig. Most seemed fine, but two of them had gotten sick, like Violet. Weak, lethargic, not wanting to move or eat.

"Shit." I muttered under my breath. "Not you, too."

I sighed, hopping out and yanking the muddy boots off. I looked over into the mini graveyard we have, the one that holds Lori, Andrea, T-Dog, and now many others. I saw Rick and Daryl yanking up dirt, putting it in a large pile while talking, about what, I wasn't sure. Doesn't matter anyway.

I began to trek down to the two, when Maggie, who was fence duty, suddenly called out, "RICK! DARYL!"

"Damn it, not again." I groaned, watching them as they ran to the fence that was bursting with walkers. I sighed in defeat, then began to run, catching up with the adults that were at the gates. As we passed the weapons on the wall, we each grabbed one, getting to the fence that began to topple over under weight. I grabbed a pipe as Glenn, Sasha, Tyreese, and Rick and Daryl each got their own weapons.

"The noise drew 'em out and now this part's starting to give." Maggie quickly explained, stabbing a walker as she spoke.

We got to work, stabbing the walkers through the fence post. I laughed under my breath humorlessly; just yesterday I was practically begging for fence duty.

To be honest, it was tedious work. Find a walker, stab it in the head, wrench the pipe out, find another. Repeat the process, again and again. It was boring. And it was doing nothing. The buildup was almost too much, and the fence kept bending due to the mass pushing against it.

At one point, Maggie tripped and fell to the floor. Glenn tried to help her up, but she brushed him off. "Don't. We're supposed to stay away from each other." The hurt that flashed across Glenn's face was evident. The poor man.

"Are you seeing this?!" Sasha panted to my right, pointing to the ground.

Daryl and Rick got a closer look. I managed to poke my head over, finding bits of chewed up mice on the ground. I wrinkled my nose in disgust.

"Is someone feeding these things?" Sasha wondered out loud.

"Heads up!" Daryl called, attempting to stab another walker.

"This part of the fence, now!" Sasha ordered, running back to her post, trying to help get rid of the undead. It didn't work. There were just so many pushing against us that the metal posts began to bend, pushing the fence down.

"Hold on, hold on." Rick repeated numerous times, looking at the fence. I could practically see the gears turning in his head as he assessed the damage and tried to plan.

"It's gonna give!" Glenn shouted as the fence was pushed down. We all moved forward, trying desperately to push the fence back in place. I groaned as the muscles in my arms tensed, the moans of the walkers and the groans of the others filling my ears. I continued to push the fence forward.

"Everyone, back!" Daryl barked. "Come on. Back, now!"

I did as I was ordered, looking at the hunter. The fence continued to bend down, dangerously close to being leveled out with where we were.

"If the fence keeps bending in like that, those walkers are coming over it," Sasha panted.

"What're gonna do?" I asked the question that was on everyone's minds. I looked at Rick, the natural leader, and his gaze was turned towards the pig pen we had.

"Daryl, get the truck." Rick ordered, running a hand through his hair. "I know what to do."

Daryl gave a nod, running to get the truck.

"Rick." I spoke. "What're you gonna do?"

He pointed towards the pig pen. "It's the pigs. They're making us sick."

"And?"

He gave me a look. That look, that broken gaze, answered my question. "No. You can't be serious!"

"Alyssa-"

"Rick! Really?" My voice broke, and I whispered. "Really?"

"It has to be done." his sharp southern twang answered me as Daryl drove the truck our way. I grounded my teeth together, but gave him a nod as he hopped into the back. I watched as he and Daryl loaded up the pigs into the back, putting them into a wooden crate and set off into beyond the gates, where the walkers were. Glenn, Maggie, Tyreese, Sasha, and I continued to stab through the fence, biding the two time to set up the truck.

I watched, bile rising in my throat, as Rick yanked out a little piglet, (Bella, as I named her,) and sliced open her back thigh. I heard her squeal in pain, and I shielded my eyes. I couldn't watch her die. I just couldn't.

I felt warm arms enveloping me, and I quickly peeked through my fingers. It was Glenn.

"We're both infected." He gave a quick explanation. "This won't do any harm."

I gave a silent nod, hugging him back tightly as I heard the last loud squeal from Bella; the last one she ever made. He hugged me back, gently stroking my hair to keep me calm.

"It's fine, it's fine," he repeated to me. It was a lie, but I nodded into his chest. The others began to grab the large pieces of wood and propped up the fence with them, securing it in place. The squeals of the other pigs filled my ears, and I just held on tighter to Glenn, sobbing lightly onto his shirt. I know we should be helping the others, propping up the fence, but I couldn't help it. I was frozen, hugging Glenn; those poor pigs were like friends to me.

As soon as all of the squealing stopped for the last time, I let go of him, drying my tears.

"Sorry about the shirt." I apologized as I looked at it. The tears were everywhere.

He shook his head. "It's fine. It's been worse before."

I nodded to him. "Thanks."

"No problem."

I helped Maggie open the gates to let the duo back in. Ricks plan worked; the pigs were an excellent distraction, and now the fence was stronger. It wouldn't hold forever, but we were in the clear for now.

Glenn, Maggie, Sasha, and Daryl went back to digging graves, Tyreese went to go say hi to Karen, and Rick went to burn what used to be the pig pen. I was walking up the pavement path the get to cell block A, where I could hopefully help the infected with Dr. S and Hershel.

I mentally kicked myself. Crying. Really?! Over pigs?! What was wrong with me? That can't happen again. I can't freeze up like that just because of some pigs.

Looking at where the pig pen used to be, I saw Rick and Carl lighting up a match, burning the wood that used to surround the pigs.

It looked like Rick dismissed Carl, so the latter began walking to the pavement path, to where I was.

"Hi." I greeted, keeping a safe distance from him.

"Hey." He answered, looking back at his dad.

He looked back at me. "I told him. He's not mad."

I furrowed my eyebrows. "Really? He said that?"

"Sorta." He answered. "He says that he doesn't want you and Carol to stop."

I nodded to him, feeling relieved. "Good."

"Where are you gonna go?" he asked as we walked up the path to the prison.

"A." I answered. "I want to help take care of the infected."

"But you could get infected!"

I slowed my steps down. "I'm already infected, cowboy. This couldn't hurt me anymore than it already has."

"You don't know that for sure." Carl argued back.

I completely stopped my movements, looking at him. His eyes, which were normally the brightest blue, were dark and clouded. I wish I could give him a hug or a kiss on the cheek, or even just run my hands through his long hair, but I knew I couldn't. If I was sick, I didn't want to get him sick, too.

"You're right, we don't," I agreed with him, "but we aren't sure that I'm not, either. If I'm not, we all know that I've at least been exposed to it. I could still help those people."

He ran a hand through his messy hair, shaking. "You know, I hate it when you're right."

I grinned at him, "I know."

I took a few more steps away from him and instead to the cell block door, grasping the handle of it.

"I'll see you later?" I asked him.

He nodded. "Of course, Angel. Just... Don't die on me, okay?"

A look of hurt flashed across his face, and my heart nearly broke.

I shook my head, letting go of the door handle and took three tentative steps toward him. "I'm not gonna die on you, okay?" I gave him a kiss on the cheek. I know I wasn't supposed to, but how could I not after seeing him so broken? "I promise."

He nodded, and I walked into the infected cell, waving him goodbye with my other hand.

* * *

_A/N: Thanks for reading! Hope you guys liked the mini fluff at the end. _


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Hello, my viwers! Sorry the chapter was put up a day late; I didn't have any time to yesterday. So, the season five finale's tonight! Ahhhhh! I'm nervous and super excited at the same time. We all know by now that someone IS dying, but I have no clue who it's gonna be, and it's driving me crazy!_

_Oh, and btw. if you haven't figured this out yet, there are kind of a lot of swears in my fanfictions. If that offends you, sorry, but it happens. Nothing too major (in my standards,) just hell, dammit, shit and fuck. Sorry again if you don't like it, but my story swears. _

_And, as always, onto the chapter!_

* * *

"Hershel?" I called out quietly into the cell block, looking for the wise old man. Instead, I found Dr. S, who looked worn out and ragged.

"Alyssa, what're you doing in here?" he asked me, holding onto the side rail of the stairs. His eyes had darker-than-normal circles around them.

"I want to help." I told him, straightening out my back and standing tall.

"No," he replied, looking around at the cells.

"No?" I questioned.

"No," he confirmed, and he began to walk away from me.

"But, I want to help!" I repeated. "There are more people in here that could use me. You need an extra hand."

"My extra hand is Hershel." he waved me off.

"That's two people against... How many in here? Twelve? Twenty? You need the help."

He ran a hand through his sweaty, mopped hair, and grabbed something from the cell where he had all of the medical tools in. "Wear that. Over your mouth."

He tossed me a green and black bandana, which I fastened over my mouth, tying it tightly behind my head.

Once it was securely fastened, Dr. S sent me to check on the, "patients," in the far left corner of the block. I was to take their temperature with an old electric thermometer and check the back of their throats with a tongue depressor. I was also to hand out half drunken bottles of water and damp cloths to them.

I met the first person infected. Since I didn't normally hang out with many people from cell block D, it took me a while to remember her name. Elizabeth, I think.

"Hey." I said. She looked up for a quick second, before moving her mouth down into a napkin, where she coughed violently into many times. When they stopped, she grasped the napkin forcefully in her left palm, shaking violently.

"Alyssa?" she asked, her voice quiet.

"Shh." I shushed her, grabbing the thermometer. "I'm here to help." I stuck the thermometer in her ear, waiting silently until the beep signaled it was done.

102\. 7.

Damn.

"Could you stick your tongue out for me?" I asked her, and she complied. I used a tongue depressor, pushing it downwards as I looked at the back of her throat. It was red and swollen. A sticky film of blood and mucus was covering the throat and her tongue.

I took out the tongue depressor, putting the red covered end into a tissue to throw out. I handed her a water bottle. "Drink this. It's good to stay hydrated when sick."

She pushed the bottle away. "Keep the resources. Don't waste them on me; I'm going to die."

I shook my head at her, frowning. "Don't speak like that. You'll be fine. Take the water."

She gave me a rueful glance, then coughed more into another tissue. When her coughing fit ended, she grabbed the bottle. "I hope you're right, kid."

I gave her a nod, leaving the cell, whispering to myself, "I hope I'm right, too."

I did this five more times, checking infected people and giving them water bottles and damp cloths. I got coughed on a few times, which didn't make me feel any cleaner. Each person had such high temperatures; 102.7, 103.4, 101.9, hell, even 104.2. I wasn't sure how to handle them. Most were weak and lethargic, coughing up the disgusting red mixture of blood and mucus.

"Dr. S." I called, finding him working with another infected. He finished up with them, and we talked about what we found out about.

"It's not good." I said, and he nodded. He coughed, and my eyes widened. "Not you, too!"

"I'm fine." He waved a hand dismissively. "I'm fine. I can still help the others. They need it."

I gave him a stare. "You're one of them now." I shrugged my shoulders. "Fabulous."

He gave me a glare. "I'm _fine_, Alyssa." Dr. S went into a coughing fit, his hands resting on his knees as he heaved.

"You sure?" I asked him. He rolled his eyes.

"Dr. S?" I heard a drowsy womanly voice call at the front of the block. "Dr. S?"

He and I moved to the middle of the block, in front of the stairs. It was Sasha, her normally caramel colored skin pale and ghostly. She was coughing as much as the others in here.

"Dr. S." she said again, looking at him beside me.

"We have to tell them." he said to her, a hand grasping the stairwell rail. "It's starting."

With that note, we gave her her own cell, just like the rest. After her, five more people came in, each coughing up lungs and were very lethargic. I felt bad for them, but I still tried my best to help them.

While helping Sasha, I looked out the cell door, my eyes going to the window near the main door. Tyreese was staring at Sasha intently. He wasn't moving, wasn't talking. Just staring at her. I looked up at his face, and noticed his left eye was black and swollen shut. He had small cuts and abrasions along his face. What the hell did I miss?

He eventually left, and I took a big breath of air through my bandana. I never worked well when I was watched like a hawk.

Once he left, I continued to work with the infected to the best of my ability. I was, until Hershel came along.

"Alyssa? What're you doing here?" the one-legged man asked me, a look of confusion on his face. He was at the front of the cell block, a bandana loosely wrapped on his face, his hand on the open door handle.

"Helping." I replied, straightening out the bandana over my mouth. He ushered me outside the door, where we both took the bandanas off our faces. I took a great big breath, glad to be out of the room for a moment.

He ran a hand down his face. "You're supposed to be in quarantine with the other kids. There was a council meeting about this."

"There was?"

"About an hour ago, yes."

"Whoops."

"Yeah," he gave me one of those disapproving looks. "You should also know that Michonne and Daryl are going on a run. They're taking Bob, too. Getting some meds for the sick folk."

My heart leapt at the sound of my mother's name. "Okay, good. We need it. Nothing's looking too hot in there."

He nodded. "I know."

"What am I gonna do now? I can't go in quarantine with the others; I'd get them sick."

"I know." He said, looking away for a moment and thinking. "You've already been in there. Might as well get you a room to yourself. That way, everyone's safe."

I shook my head forcefully. "No."

"No?" He questioned me.

"No. I can help these people. I've already been exposed to it. Might as well do some good."

He studied me for a moment. "Does your mother know you're in here?"

I gave a sheepish smile. "No."

"Oh, Alyssa." He groaned. "Does Rick know you're in here?"

I shook my head again. "No."

He ran a hand down his face. "Does _anyone_ know you're in here?"

"Carl."

"Of course." He shook his head. "You can't stay in here."

"But, Hershel-"

"No buts. Come with me." He began to walk out the main door of the cell block, using his hand to gesture forward. A signal for me to come with him. I groaned, but did as I was told, following him as he opened the door to the courtyard. Instead of moving through the courtyard, we both took a few steps back as we saw Glenn. He was coughing onto the pavement ground near the door, his shoulders shaking as he heaved up the red goop. I slumped mine, shaking my head.

"No." I whispered. Not Glenn, too!

"Stay away." He held out his hand in a warning gesture. "I can't get you two sick, too." He had another coughing fit on the ground.

I fastened the bandana around my mouth, looking to Hershel for confirmation. He nodded.

I went to Glenn, kneeling down next to him as he finally stopped coughing.

"C'mon, big guy." I said, moving his arm around my shoulders. I began to pull him up off the ground, one hand grasping his forearm, the other around his waist to wrench him up. He turned his head away from me as he coughed again. "We're going to A."

He gave me a weak nod, and together we managed to make it to the cell block opening. Hershel held the door open for us as we walked in. Glenn and I weakly walked up the stairs of the block, and I found him an empty cell to rest in. I helped him lie in the bed.

"Thanks." He murmured, his hands holding his head.

I nodded to him, then bounded down the stairs two at a time to get the thermometer and a cold, damp cloth.

I took his temperature. 102.8. Crap. I put the cloth on his forehead, then left the block, assured by Dr. S that he would be taken care of.

"Okay," I said to Hershel as I got out of the block, "He's with Dr. S, he'll be fine."

Hershel nodded and jerked his head to the door to the courtyard. "Now, let's get going. I'm sure there's an empty office that you can stay in for quarantine."

"Where are the other kids?" I asked as we walked to the offices.

"They're all in the office at the end of the hallway, the large one." Hershel answered as we went into the administrative block, pointing down a large hallway. "Beth and Judith are in one on the other side of the cell block."

I nodded again, and together we walked down the long, dark hallway. We went into the office that was two doors down from the one occupied by the others. It was dusty, dark, but safe for me.

"Now, stay in here." Hershel gestured to the lone chair behind a cluttered and messy desk.

"For how long?" I asked, flipping a light switch. The one light bulb hanging loosely from the middle of the ceiling flickered on. Huh; I didn't know our electricity went this far. Go figure.

"Until we're sure that you aren't contaminated."

"How long will that be?" I looked at him, my head cocked to my right.

He shrugged his shoulders. "We'll find out."

I rolled my eyes at him, giving a weak smile. "Okay. See you later, then."

He nodded to me, and then walked out, closing the heavy door behind him. I looked around the office. No books to read, no one to hang out with, no chores to do.

What the hell am I supposed to do now?

* * *

I sat in the large cushioned office chair, looking at the desk in front of me, littered with papers.

"Ugh, I'm bored." I said into empty air. No reply. Not that I was expecting one. I ran my fingers through my messy hair, attempting to brush it through. It proved to be a harder task than I thought. At least I was doing something.

My fingers stopped as I heard a knock on the door. Curious, I walked to it, listening to the sounds of the person behind it.

"Angel, you in there?" I heard Carl's voice ask on the other side of the wooden door. I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Yeah." I answered, standing in front of the door, but keeping it closed. "I'm here."

"Good. I was wondering where they put you." He replied. I rested my back against the door, listening to him speak.

"How are the others?" I asked, resting my head against the door, looking at the ceiling.

"They're fine." He answered, and I could feel him resting against the other side. "Molly's in the room, and Mika is, too. Luke started coughing; I think Hershel brought him down to block A. Lizzie had to go, too."

I bit the inside of my cheek. "They're infected?"

"... Yeah." Carl replied softly. "Beth and Judith are safe, or that's what they told me."

"Good." I nodded, but remembered he couldn't see me. I slid to the floor, my back against the door, my knees bent in front of me. "How are you?"

"I'm okay. I gotta be."

I shook my head. "Drop it, cowboy. Tell me what's up with you."

I heard him sink to the floor on the other side, and felt the small bump of the door against my back. He must've sat down against it. "This isn't what I wanted. I have my gun back, but now people are dying left and right. And, now I can't hang out with Judith, or dad, or Michonne, or you. This sucks."

I chuckled lightly. "You could say that again."

I felt the door move slightly, making me believe that Carl rested the back of his head against it, too. "How are you doing in there?"

I answered. "I'm fine, I guess. Bored, but that's about it. I don't feel sick or anything, so I'm okay."

"Good." He said. "Maybe they'll let you out soon."

"I hope."

We sat in silence together, resting our heads against the door. I continued the earlier task if brushing my hair out with my fingers.

"I'm bored." I said, my hand moving through my brown mane.

"Hi Bored, I'm Carl." I heard him reply, chuckling at his own joke.

"Did you just use a dad joke against me?" I feigned anger.

"I guess I did." He replied. I could hear the grin on his face.

"How dare you!" I playfully tapped the door behind me, as if I were punching him. He laughed. I hit it again.

"I love you." I heard him murmur behind the wood.

I stopped punching the door. "What?" I turned so I sat on my knees, looking at the wood.

"I-" he gave a nervous chuckle and whispered again. "I love you."

I smiled at the door, and rested my forehead against the cold surface. "I love you, too." I heard him nervously laugh again, and felt a bump of the door on my forehead. He must've done the same on his side.

We rested like that a moment, each grinning widely. Those three words weren't exactly something we've told each other before, but I'm glad I said it. I'm sure Carl was, too.

There was a sound on the other side of the door, like footsteps.

"What's that?" I asked Carl, getting my head off the door.

He moved on the other side. "I'm not sure. Wait..." He stood up, brushing dust off his jeans.

"It's Hershel." He answered, whispering quickly. "I'll be right back."

"Okay." I said, hearing his footsteps go away from the door. I tried to listen to what he and Hershel were saying, but I couldn't make out words. There was the sound of a door opening.

Then silence.

Damn it! Alone again.

"Feel free to come back soon." I sarcastically said to empty air. No response. Ugh, I hate being alone.

I went back to the chair, finding it comfier than the floor and door. I spun around in it, making myself dizzy. At least I wasn't bored.

I stopped spinning for a moment, holding my head in my hands to help me see straight again. I began to cough, my eyes widening as I did.

Fuck.

_No_, I thought,_ no need to panic. I'm not sick. Of course not. There's a lot of dust in here. Dust can make people cough, right? Sure it can. I'm fine. Really._

Really?

I shook my head, telling myself I was fine. I coughed into my hand again, my shoulders shaking as I did. I didn't cough up any blood, so I was sure I was fine. I'm totally okay.

I heard two sets of footsteps moving in the hall, a few doors opening and closing. Carl and Hershel must've come back.

"Alyssa?" I heard a rough voice call on the other side of the door.

I stood up from the chair, moving to the door. "Who is it?"

"Rick."

I stood in front of the door. "What're you doing here?"

"I need to ask you something. It's important." He told me, opening the door from the other side. I took a few steps back, looking at his worn out face. He had small cuts on his tanned skin and a large bandage wrapped around his hand.

"What's wrong? Are Carl and Hershel back?" I asked, unsure of what was important.

"Yeah, they're back. Carl's with the other kids. Hershel went to A block." He replied, running a hand through his hair. He was nervous.

"Oh." I said. "Then what's wrong?"

He looked at me, hands resting on his sides. "Have you seen Carol at all?"

I raised an eyebrow. "No; not since the walker attack on D. Why?"

He sighed, shaking his head. "You had nothing to do with it, then?"

"What did I have nothing to do with?" I asked him.

He moved an inch closer, his voice whispering. "She killed Karen and David."

My gaze hardened. "She did what?!"

He looked behind him, making sure no one was near us. "They were infected. Carol was trying to stop it from spreading. I thought, since you and her were working together at story time..."

"No." I said immediately. "No, this was all her."

"Good." He nodded.

We stood there a moment, my hands running through my hair. "What are you gonna do about it?"

He stared at me. "She can't be around us."

"Rick-"

"My family is here. Your family is here. Do you really want someone who has killed because of a flu around them?"

"I-" I shook my head. "So what're you gonna do? _Kill _her?"

"No." He answered, looking out the door. "She's just not gonna be with us anymore."

"Where is she gonna go?"

"I don't know. That's not my problem. My problem is to get her out of here."

"You can't just-"

"I have to. She'll make it out there. She's strong."

I dropped my head. "She's my family, too."

He gave a slight nod to me. "I know. She'll be fine on her own."

I looked up at him. "I know. Doesn't mean I like it."

"I know." He advanced towards me, just another step, dropping his voice again. "You can't tell anyone. Not your mom, not Beth, not even Carl. This needs to be kept a secret until I deal with it."

I nodded at him. "Got it."

"How're you feeling?" He asked, making his way out the door.

"I'm fine." I gave him an answer, though I wasn't sure if I was lying or not. I certainly wasn't going to say anything about me coughing. I wasn't even sure if it meant anything, so, yeah, fine works.

"Good." He walked out the door, closing it behind him.

Ugh, I hate keeping secrets.

Only a few moments after Rick left, Carl went to the door.

"Hey." He said, the door in between us.

I sat on the floor, resting my back against it again. "Hey."

"What did my dad want?" Carl asked. "He sounded nervous, or something. What'd you guys talk about?"

I gave a weak smile, rubbing my eyes with the palms of my hands. "Nothing important. Nothing important at all."

* * *

_A/N: Hope you liked it! Feel free to review it. _


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Hey guys! Please don't kill me for having this chappie be two weeks late. I've just been so busy with school and family and stuff. And, to be honest, this chapter had me stumped for a while. I knew what I wanted to write, but I couldn't put it into words, you know? Btw, happy late Easter!_

_PS, I recently found out that Chandler Riggs is going to the Boston Walker Stalker. Guess what?_

_I'm near Boston! Asdfjkladhfhsd. I'm sooo excited for it! I can't believe that I get to meet him._

_Okay *Whew* Mini fangirl session over. Onto the much needed chapter._

* * *

I've been inside this stupid office for about two days. I've done absolutely nothing. At all. I was going crazy.

I had no chores to do, no walkers to kill, no one to talk to (unless Carl comes over for a bit, but he still couldn't come in.) This was torture.

There was still no word from mom and the others that went on the run for meds. It was to be expected, since the vet college WAS far, but my nerves have been running on high since I got here. You never know what's happening out there.

I sat in the rolling chair, my head spinning. I fanned myself with a file from the desk. It was really hot in here.

I coughed, my shoulders shaking as I nearly hurled. Dammit. I grabbed a paper off the desk, coughing up the stupid red goop into the unfinished case.

_I'm fine, _I told myself,_ you'll stop coughing soon._

When I did stop, I put my hands to temples and rubbed them. This stupid flu. Ugh, it was wearing me out.

I hated having this. I knew I was at risk for having it when I walked into block A, but I never thought I'd actually get it. I denied it at first, saying that I'd be fine. The coughing was because of the dust. I was feeling really warm because of the room not having a breeze, not because I had a fever.

And the others still don't know. I haven't told Carl.

A knock on the door brought me out of my thoughts. "Hello?"

"Just me." Carl's voice answered on the other side.

I smiled, making my way over to sit against the door, as I always do when he visits. "How are the others?"

"Fine. No one else has coughed or anything. How about you?" He answered, sitting against his side of the door.

I rubbed my temples, giving a weak smile and a quiet, "I'm okay. Nothing out of the ordinary."

"Good. Maybe the others will come back today and you can get outta there."

I weakly laughed. "Maybe."

"...Are you sure you're okay?"

"Of course. Why?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. You sound... Different. Like you have allergies or something."

I sighed. "Yeah. Probably just allergies." I took my knife out of its sheath on my hip, lightly stabbing the wooden floor. "Any word from my mom?"

"... No." He eventually answered. "Sorry. I'm sure she and the others are fine."

I nodded, even though he couldn't see me. "How have you been?"

"I'm fine." He replied. "I'm just babysitting. Woop-de-freaking-doo. We could all be infected, you know? I was hanging out with Patrick just a few hours before he died. I'm at risk, just like everyone else, and instead of helping out, I'm stuck babysitting."

"I'm sorry."

"Not your fault, don't be sorry."

"Okay..."

We sat together in silence. I had a mental battle with myself. _Should I tell him? Should I stay quiet? I need to go to A! No, I could stay in here, I'm not hurting anyone. Argh._

That's when a loud cough started in my throat. I tried to hold in the cough, but of course, I couldn't stop it. I lurched forward, my mind going blank as my stomach churned. I coughed and wheezed, my arms hugging my sides and my head spun like I was on a roller coaster ride.

"Alyssa!" Carl's worried voice on the other side of the door exclaimed. "Are you okay?!"

I crawled on the floor quickly, finding the nearly empty trash bucket underneath the desk. I coughed up blood into it, my hair sticking to my face and neck as I heaved. I continued to cough up the disgusting mixture, my eyes tearing up as I did so. I hated getting sick as kid, and that hasn't changed at all.

"Alyssa?" Carl asked through the door when I finally stopped. I tossed the trash to my left, not bothering to fix it as it landed on its side. I pushed the sweaty strands of hair from my face with shaky hands, and I stood up from the floor.

I walked to the door, my hand resting on the doorknob. I whispered. "You need to take me to cell block A."

"No! No, no." Carl groaned. "Not you, too!"

I opened the door just a crack, seeing him stand on the other side. He was upset; that was VERY clear. He was frowning deeply, his hand hovering over the gun in his holster, and his eyes... They were normally so bright and blue, I swear, half the time they saw into my soul; now, they were clouded and dark, sadness filling up his irises.

"I'm sorry." I said to him, opening up the door for the first time since I've been put in there. I watched as he took a few steps away from me. I frowned. I didn't like being alienated like this, but, I knew it was for the best.

"Let's go, then." He answered, gesturing in front of him. I walked forward, hearing his footsteps behind me as I kept walking with him to block A.

When we got to the cell block, he opened the door for me.

"Good luck." He whispered to me as he closed the metal door behind me.

I nodded. "Thanks, cowboy."

"I love you."

I gave a sad smile to him. "I love you, too."

He then left, and I looked into the cell. People were everywhere, coughing and groaning. Their skin was pale and ghostly, and their eyes were sunken, with dark circles around them. Their hair was sweaty and matted against their foreheads. I wonder if that's how I look, too.

"Alyssa?" I heard someone call my name, and I turned to the left. It was Hershel, a somber look in his eyes.

"I-" I started, but began to cough instead. I wrapped my hands around my stomach as I shook violently and coughed up blood. Hershel took a tissue from one of his pockets, handing it to me. I nodded to him, a silent thanks, and took it from his hand. I coughed into it instead, thankful that I had it.

"Glenn's up there." He told me, pointing to a cell up the stairs. "You should go rest with him. I'm sure he'd love the company."

I nodded to him, discarding the tissue into a trash bin and bounded half-heartedly up the stairs.

"Hey." I greeted slowly to Glenn, walking into the cell. He was in the bed, his legs swung over the sides, his head resting against the wall. His hair was sweaty and matted, his eyes drooping and he was shivering. Behind him, lying on the bed, was a half empty pack of travel tissues. The packet was bright and colorful, a strange blob of happy against the dark and dreary room.

Glenn looked up at me, then frowned. "You, too?"

I nodded, sitting next to him on the bed. "Mom will be back soon. She and Daryl and the others will have the meds. We'll be fine."

He gave a weak smile to me.

I started coughing. I groaned, "Not again," and quickly grabbed the tissues that were on the bed. I coughed into them, my shoulders shaking every time I heaved into them.

Glenn's hand began rubbing my back. "It sucks, I know, but it gets better." He continued to rub my back, trying to make me feel better. I continued to cough, but my shoulders stopped shaking.

When I did stop, I murmured, "Fucking hell," under my breath. Glenn gave a weak laugh.

I rested my head on his shoulder. "This doesn't get better, does it?"

He shook his head. "No. It doesn't."

* * *

"Glenn! Alyssa!" Hershel's voice called us. "C'mere. I need your help. Sasha, you too."

I raised an eyebrow, but walked with Glenn to the old farmer. He was in a cell, trying to hold down a man who was coughing violently. He had medical tools at his side: an intubator tube and a balloon pump. In his hands was a metal object to help open the patient's mouth.

"Alyssa, hold his legs down." Hershel commanded, and I went to the mans legs. He kicked and thrashed, but I managed to hold them down.

"Sasha, help her out." Hershel told her, and she went to help me. Together, we held down the legs.

"Glenn, get his arms." Hershel ordered. Glenn complied.

The man continued to thrash around as Hershel tried to intubate him.

"Henry, I need you to calm down." Hershel tried to ease the man, holding the large metal object above the mans mouth. "We're trying to help."

Henry stopped thrashing around, for the most part. Hershel managed to get the metal piece in, and used it to guide the plastic tube into the throat. He successfully connected the bag to the tube, and began pumping it at four second intervals to push air into the lungs. Glenn sighed, coughing a little, and took his arms off of Henry's as Henry relaxed his extremities.

"Drink some of that." Hershel jerked his neck to his left, at a full thermos container. "All of you."

Glenn grabbed it, twisting the cap off and pouring a brown tinted liquid into it. He took a gulp of what I expected to be tea, then gave me the thermos. I did the same, filling the cap up and drinking the warm mixture. I'd guess it was chamomile, or something. I wasn't great at guessing tea. I then gave it to Sasha, who graciously took it from my hands and drank eagerly.

"Some council meeting, huh?" Hershel spoke as he squeezed the air bag.

"We're two members short." Sasha replied, twisting the cap back on the thermos.

"I think we should make some new rules before they get back." Hershel continued with a smile. "I hereby declare we have spaghetti Tuesdays every Wednesday."

Sasha groaned, scratching her wrist. Glenn rested against the wall, panting.

"Well, I for one, second the notion." I smiled at him, raising a closed fist in the air.

"First, we'd have to find some spaghetti." Hershel smiled at me. The others just rolled their eyes.

"Minor details." I replied, shrugging my shoulders. I then coughed, and groaned afterwards.

"You okay to take over?" Hershel asked Sasha, referring to the air pump in his hands. She nodded, moving to the pump.

He put her hand on it, giving directions. "Every five to six seconds, squeeze. If you start feeling lightheaded, grab somebody else to take over." She nodded to him. "We'll take it in shifts."

He turned to Glenn and me. "You two want to help me go on my rounds?"

I nodded to him, and Glenn said, "Yeah. Sure."

He stood up, having some difficulty, but managed to get on his feet. I followed suit, getting up from the floor at a snails pace. Hershel grabbed his packs and lantern and got to the doorway of the cell, waiting for me and Glenn patiently.

"How long will that keep him alive?" Glenn asked, nodding his head to the intubation.

Hershel shook his head. "Just as long as we're willing to do it. As long as it takes."

I nodded and followed the two out of the cell, seeing Sasha squeeze the bag as we left. We hobbled down the stairs, making our way to a cell down the left of the block. When we made it to the first cell, we found a patient, one from Woodbury, lying motionless on the bed. His eyes were open but not seeing. There were blood stains on his cheeks and drooping down his throat. Hershel waved his lantern in front of the patient's eyes, but as suspected, he didn't follow the bright object.

Glenn took out his knife from his sheath, only to be told by Hershel, "No. Not here." The old man quickly left, grabbing a stretcher as Glenn re-sheathed his knife.

"Help me get him on this." Hershel said.

"Okay, but in a couple of hours when Henry's dead-"

"Glenn."

Glenn continued. "How are we gonna get his body down the stairs, across the cell block and through those doors without anyone noticing?"

"If that happens- IF- you're gonna help me." Hershel answered, a passion in his voice. Glenn gulped, his hand rubbing his forehead.

"And what if I'm gone?"

"Shut up," Hershel pointed to the body on the bed, "and help me get him on this."

With some difficulty, the three of us moved the body onto the stretcher. We covered it with a white sheet, and began to wheel it through the sick cell block. Glenn opened the door as a person, covered by shadows, walked to the light.

"What are you doing?" Lizzie asked us.

"We're taking Mr. Jacobson to a quieter place." Hershel calmly answered, walking up to her and placing a hand on her forehead, checking her fever.

"Go get my copy of 'Tom Sawyer' from my room." He smiled to her. "I want you to read it by tonight. We all got jobs to do. That ones yours."

"I'll go with her." I offered, giving a look to Glenn. He nodded, so I walked to Hershel and Lizzie. "I always wanted to read 'Tom Sawyer.' Never got to before." Since I knew that Glenn and Hershel could take care of the body, I would help and keep the other kids busy.

"That would be nice, Alyssa." Hershel nodded, allowing me to walk to Lizzie.

She coughed into her elbow. "We'll never finish it."

I gave a sad look to her. Hershel bent down to talk to her. "Why?"

"It's gonna get too dark." She replied. I frowned; not what I was thinking. Or, maybe it was, just disguised.

"Well," Hershel grabbed her hand tightly, "Give it your best try. And drink some tea."

I smiled to Hershel and Glenn as we walked away, my hand clapping her shoulder. "I'll make sure she does."

Together, she and I walked to Hershel's cell, and I told her to sit on the bed. She obliged, and I quickly looked through the small pile of books he had on the bedside table. "Tom Sawyer," was about a third into the pile.

"Now, have you read about Sawyer before?" I asked her, trying to be cheery as we walked back to her cell.

She gave me a bored look. "No. Not before."

"Okay, I can work with that." I attempted to give a bright smile, trying to boost morale. It didn't work.

While walking, I heard the others in the cell. It was horrible and bleak there. Everyone was coughing and sweating, myself included. The fever made me sweat bullets, and my poor shirt was halfway soaked with sweat. My coughing, though it had ceased for the moment, was still painful. My throat was so itchy.

When we got to Lizzie's cell, we saw another child sitting on her floor, a bundle of light brown curls atop his head.

"Lizzie!" He smiled to her. "You're back."

"Yeah, Luke." She said, moving to sit on her bed. "Hershel wants us to read."

"Could Alyssa read the story to us?" Luke asked, his eyes alight with happiness. He coughed into his hand, frowning.

"Of course. I'd be happy to." I smiled to him, flipping to the first page of the book. "If Lizzie doesn't want to."

Lizzie shook her head, lying on her side and pulling up the covers. "No. You can read out loud."

"... Okay." I nodded, sitting cross-legged on the floor with Luke. I began to read from the page in front of me.

* * *

I was on page 42 when the man died. I heard it in the cell with Lizzie and Luke. Hershel went around the block, checking patients. It wasn't out of the ordinary. Hershel had checked Dr. S' cell. I don't know what Caleb had said to the vet, but it must've spooked him. Hershel was walking around the block, telling everyone calmly, to shut their doors. That's when someone who walking behind Hershel stumbled to his cell.

The kids and I went to the bars of the cell door, watching the man behind Hershel. He stumbled as he coughed and gurgled, and he hit his head on a metal beam, falling to the ground in result. He thrashed around on his back, his eyes, ears, and mouth bleeding profusely. Everyone watched as his movements and gargles stopped, and he laid motionless on his back.

Hershel looked at the man, pure grief in his eyes. However, he stayed rational, and spoke to everyone in the block. "Everyone, get back in your cells."

No one moved from their spots, as if they were rooted there. People coughed and groaned, but no one physically moved from their standing positions.

Hershel spoke again. "Go on; get back in your cells."

"C'mon, kids." I whispered, shooing Luke and Lizzie into the cell. I walked back out and saw Sasha pushing the stretcher to Hershel. I got a good look at the old man, and frowned. Hershel looked so worn out. He kept working and working, not stopping for even just a minute, and it was burning him out. My heart dropped.

"You heard the man." I spoke up, walking to them. My voice, though a little quiet and raspy, could be heard from the echoes. "Get into your cells; rest. No need to watch him."

That caused a few people to listen. Satisfied, I helped Sasha move the stretcher to Hershel.

"Let's get him on this." She told him through her raspy gasps.

Hershel nodded, collapsing the stretcher to the floor. The three of us moved the mans lifeless body onto it together.

"Go rest." Hershel stressed each syllable. "Both of you. Can you make it to your cells by yourselves?"

Sasha nodded. I nodded as well, but began to push the stretcher to the best of my ability.

"Alyssa-" Hershel started.

"No." I interrupted. "I'm not going back into that cell until this- HE, is taken care of. Have you looked at yourself? You look like you're going to work yourself to death. I'm not gonna keep watching you. I'm going to _help_ you. Okay?"

He sighed at me, giving me the, "Look." The one that says that he doesn't truly agree, but he had no other choice. "Fine. Help me with this, but you're going straight back to that cell afterwards, okay?"

I nodded, grabbing one side of the full stretcher. Hershel grabbed the other, and together we pushed it to the empty concrete room. Before the apocalypse, I think this was where the prisoners got to talk to their friends and family. It was fully made out of concrete, like every other part of the prison, but with one large window on one side. On the other side of the large window, there was a room exactly like this one. They reminded me of conjoined conference rooms.

Once Hershel and I pulled the stretcher into place, he slowly reached for his small black Bible, his hand hovering over it for a moment. He shook his head then, and pulled his arm to his side.

"Hershel, we need to take care of him." I said quietly, coughing as soon as I finished the sentence.

He nodded. "I know." He threw a white bed sheet over the body gently, took out his knife and held it with both hands, above the dead man's face. He closed his eyes, just for a moment, and plunged the knife into the head, yanking it out as soon as he finished the job.

"Hershel." Someone from the other "conference," room called. The person walked to the window so we could see them and hear them better. It was Rick. He must've just come back from the run. My heart sunk, realizing that that means that Carol isn't here anymore.

"Third one we've lost." Hershel gestured to the dead body on the stretcher. "We're burning him behind the blocks." He gave a look of distaste. "_Burning_ them. That's what it's come to."

"Are you okay?" Rick asked him. I looked away from the two for a moment, coughing into my elbow. I wheezed a little afterwards, and I groaned. I hated the coughs.

"I talked to him yesterday about Steinbeck. He told me a quote." Hershel continued, after my small coughing fit. "'A sad soul can kill quicker than a germ.' That's exactly why I didn't want them all to see what happens. I know they know, but I didn't want them to see it right now."

"They're seeing you, Hershel. They see you keep going. Even after all the choices keep getting taken away." Rick said, pacing around the room. He gave an exasperated sigh, and walked back to the mirror. "When we get past this thing, it's not gonna be like how it was, is it?"

Hershel shook his head vigorously. "No."

"Was that denial? Not seeing things for how they were?" Rick ran a hand through his already messy hair. He was agitated. I wondered for a moment if he thought that this shitstorm that we're in was his fault. That's what it sounded like.

"No. You just caught a break. You needed some time. You got some." Hershel assured the sheriff. "You got lucky. We all did. I still think there's a plan. I still believe there's a reason."

"You think it's all a test?" Rick asked. I raised an eyebrow at the old man. How could Hershel still believe that this is all a plan? I couldn't believe in things like that anymore. From how I see it, if God were real, he'd stop all of this shit from happening.

"Life is always a test, Rick." Hershel said wisely. Rick grasped the bottom border of the window. Rick looked so lost, his eyes looking anywhere but our faces.

"I need to talk to you about Carol." He told Hershel, finally looking up into Hershel's eyes.

"Alyssa-" Hershel tried to tell me to leave, his hand pointing to the door back to the block.

I shook my head, raising my hands. "I already know."

Rick nodded, allowing me to stay with them. He told us the major details of what happened on the run. He spoke about two other survivors who wanted to join the group; a man and a woman. The woman didn't survive; the man was never found afterwards. He also told us about Carol's departure.

"I had to." He said after the story was told. "She couldn't stay with us. Not with my children here. Not with everyone here."

Hershel gaze softened. "I understand, Rick. You made the right call."

"You think so?" He asked, standing up straight.

"Of course. You didn't kill her. You left her with supplies. You gave her a fighting chance. I only wish that you didn't make his decision by yourself."

Rick nodded. "I know."

Coughs could be heard from the cell behind us.

"We should go, Alyssa. Check on the others." Hershel told me, and he began walking towards the door.

I nodded. "I'll be there. Just give me a minute."

He nodded, walking outside.

I turned to Rick. "How's everything out there?"

He ran a hand through his shaggy hair. "Everyone's alright. The buildup at the fence is a bit overwhelming, but we're gonna handle that."

I nodded. "How's Carl?"

He sighed. "Carl's upset. You're in here, and I'm not letting him do anything. He's upset, but he's okay."

I sighed, but gave a grim nod. "And any word from my mother?"

He shook his head. "No. No one from the run is back yet. I'm sure they're fine."

"Yeah, I'm sure, too." I replied. I turned away from him as I coughed, and the blood and mucus expelled from my throat. "Ugh. It hurts. Every damn time." I pushed back the hair from my face, both of which were slick with sweat.

"I'm sorry." Rick said from the other side of the glass. "Go. Rest, or something."

I nodded. "I will. Please, tell me when they return. From the run."

"O' course." He then left the other conference room, closing the door loudly behind him.

I walked out of the room, looking around the cell block.

"Hershel?" I weakly called out, looking for the man.

"Alyssa! Get over here!" He hissed, and I found his form hanging outside a cell door, Sasha's legs also hanging out.

"What happened?" I asked, quickly making my way towards them and hopping to the floor.

"Found her here. Don't know." He answered quickly, his hands shaking slightly as he grabbed a plastic pack from his side. It was an IV kit.

"C'mon, Sasha." He whispered as he worked on her. "You know how to fight. Just hold on. Just _hold on_. Don't give up on me now."

He and I moved her to a proper resting position, with little difficulty. We just moved a pillow under her head. He then put the IV needle in her arm, securing it with two strips of medical tape. I held the bag out, a little high up so the liquid would move to her arm easily. It was a little while before she finally opened her eyes.

"Welcome back." Hershel greeted, relief clear in his voice.

"I passed out?" Sasha asked, her voice groggy.

"You were dehydrated." Hershel said simply, with a smile. "Being a hero takes a lot outta ya."

"You should know." She replied, a small smile playing on her lips. "I thought you were an idiot to come in here. I mean, I was sure you were just gonna be a dead foolish man."

"I can't tell if that's a compliment." Hershel played.

"I don't know what I'm sayin'." She weakly replied, the smile coming off her face and her eyes closed. "I must've hit my head. I don't believe in magic, or luck. I do the math, and I don't gamble." The smile returned to her face. "But I don't know if I'd be here right now, if you weren't so damn stupid." She chuckled lightly. Hershel and I smiled to her as she spoke.

"You know what?" He chuckled back. "I'm gonna take that as a compliment."

She sighed at him. "Good."

We sat there, the three of us, in silence. My arm started to hurt from holding the bag in the air for so long, but I didn't complain. The pain, the very slight pain, was welcoming. At least I could still feel it.

"Alyssa." Hershel said my name, grabbing my IV bag from my hand. "Could you go check on Glenn for me? Give him a break from intubating Henry."

"Of course." I said, standing up from my spot on the floor and brushing dust off of my pants.

I walked out of the cell to the stairs, pausing every few steps to catch my breath. As I said before, I hating having this damn flu. I felt so weak, every second. My bones ached, my joints were stiff, my lungs felt like crap. I could hardly breathe without coughing up blood and mucus every five seconds. And having to stop almost every three steps… It was like admitting I was weak. I couldn't just push through it without consequences.

When I finally made it up the stairs and into the cell, I found Glenn sitting on the floor, Henry splayed out in front of him. He squeezed the air bag connected to the plastic tube that was stuck in Henry's throat.

"Glenn." I spoke his name out loud, cashing him to jerk up from his spot. He sighed when he saw it was only me. "Hershel told me to relieve you. I get the honor of squeezing the bag."

"Okay." He nodded, his right hand rubbing his forehead. He moved out of the spot so I could sit down. I took the whole bag in my hands as I sat, squeezing it for the first time. Glenn moved to sit next to me instead. I then squeezed the bag again. And again. And again. And again.

I watched Henry's chest rise and fall with each pump of the bag. I stopped pumping for a moment, putting my index and middle finger on the mans throat. I found his pulse, and felt it against my two fingers. I smiled; he was alive. I continued my pumping, my head bent over and my elbows resting on my knees.

"How are ya?" I tried to make conversation with the man next to me. He groaned/coughed.

"I'm living." He replied.

"Yay." I feigned a cheer, taking one hand off the pump to make a fist and pump it in the air. He gave a weak laugh.

"Sasha fainted." I told him, pumping again. "Hershel's with her. He's got an IV in her, too."

Glenn nodded. "But she's okay?"

"Yeah." I said. "She's okay."

The reply was met with silence. I didn't mind, though. I guess that silence wasn't all that bad. Glenn rested his head against the wall, coughing. I took my two fingers, finding Henry's pulse on his neck and checking it. It pumped against my fingers again, and I sighed happily.

I continued my air pumping for ten long minutes, my hands repeating the motion over and over and over again. I decided to check his pulse again, and put my two fingers to the same spot on his neck as I did earlier.

I found nothing.

"Glenn." I anxiously called, and shook his shoulder nervously. He turned towards me, and I gestured to Henry. "He doesn't have a pulse."

He shooed me over, then began CPR on the man. He did a set of compressions on Henry's chest, and squeezed the air bag twice before repeating the process.

"Her-" Glenn called out. "Hershe- agh." and he began to cough. It was more than coughing, actually. He kept coughing and coughing, his mouth drooling the red mixture all over the floor. He was _choking_.

"Glenn!" I worriedly called, grabbing his shoulder as he fell on his side to the floor.

_What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?_

He kept choking and throwing up all over the floor, barely breathing at all.

I jumped up quickly, grabbing the cell door to push me up. "I'll be right back. I'm gonna grab Hershel!" He kept coughing and choking on the floor, so I ran hurriedly to the old man down the stairs.

I was out of breath when I reached him, his calm demeanor changing when I did.

"Alyssa. What's wrong?" He asked me without a second heartbeat.

"Glenn-" I gasped, my hands resting on my knees as I tried to catch my breath. Running- a bad idea. My already fucked up lungs could hardly take regular breathing, let alone running down stairs. I gasped and panted, struggling to take each breath.

"Hershel!" Lizzie's voice called up the stairs. She must've found Glenn. Hershel and I both turned look up the stairs, but out of the corner of my eye I saw something moving behind us.

"Hershel!" I moved him out of the way as a flu-infested walker made her way towards us from behind. He landed on the floor with an, "oomph!" and instead the walker came towards me. In a practiced movement I grabbed my knife from its trusty sheath, but I was too slow. The stupid sickness made my reaction time too slow, and the walker pushed me to the ground. My knife clattered to the floor, and my arms were pinned to the walkers chest and stomach. I had my right forearm pushing against the walkers chest, and I tried to get her gnarling teeth away from my flesh.

"Everyone, get in your cells!" Hershel called out to the others. Always trying to save everyone.

A man from a few cells to the right walked out of his cell, a small hand gun held firmly in front of him. A blonde woman, from about two cells down, walked out of her cell, trying to kick the walker off me. Another walker from behind the man moaned, his teeth chattering as he tried to find his meal.

Everything happened so fast after that moment. The blonde woman finally yanked the walker off of me, but before I had a chance to thank her and kill the walker, the gun from the man blasted and she was bleeding from her shoulder. The man who had the gun missed, not because he was a bad shot, but because the walker behind him ripped his flesh from his arm. He toppled to the ground, the walker pinning him down and biting him numerous times.

I stood up, grabbing the hilt of my knife as I did, and watched as the man, screaming, shot his gun again. Thankfully, I wasn't hit by the speeding bullet. I pulled Hershel up from the ground, assessing the damage before us. There was one walker to our right, a woman bleeding out as well, a walker to our left, eating a man who tried to save us, and it looked like Lizzie was trying to move a walker-fied Henry from Glenn. She was talking to him like he was a pet as she walked backwards. "C'mon here, Henry. Good job. Away from Glenn. That's right, follow me. You're doing a great job."

She was doing a great job moving the walker away from Glenn, but she tripped and fell, and the walker made it on top of her. She screeched at the top of her lungs and Hershel bounded up the stairs to help her. He yanked the walker off of her, tossing it to the side and it landed on the awning-like net, just above a cell over to my left. I looked around me, seeing the two walkers. The woman had died, clearly, in her cell. Blood was everywhere.

"DADDY!" I heard a muffled scream to my left, past the feasting walker. It was at the door.

Quickly making up a plan, I ran to the door, through the small amount of people getting out of their cells. I got to the front door of the block, finding Maggie. She was just about to shoot the window of the door. She was clearly relieved to be brought inside the block.

"What's happening?!" She asked me, running into the block.

"Shit's happening!" I replied, running with her. I raised my voice to an almost scream. "EVERYONE! Get in your cells!" Few listened to me.

I groaned, knowing my vocal chords would hurt, but screamed out, "GET. IN. YOUR. CELLS!" Finally, people listened. Maggie and I closed them as we ran through the block. I massaged my throat with one hand as the other yanked cell doors shut.

As she and I ran, and I sped her up to what was happening with my scratchy voice. "People have turned. Two, as far as we know, are out and about. Glenn's in trouble. Dr. S is sick, Sasha's down for the count. And I don't know where Hershel is!"

"Glenn's in trouble?!" She repeated, turning to me and stopped running. I was thankful that we did, since my lungs were just about to give out.

"Up." I pointed to the stairs, breathing raggedly. She ran to the stairs in the back of the cell, not missing a beat, leaving me to close up all the cells. I nearly hacked up a lung as I stood alone, grasping the bars of the cell in front of me. When I finished my coughing fit, I closed the rest of the cells.

"Now, stay! All of you." I said to the rest of the sick as I was about to go up the stairs. I coughed as I rested my hand on rail, my scratchy throat spewing up stupid blood and mucus. I fucking hate puking.

When I did stop (and trust me, it took a while,) I hobbled up the stairs on shaky legs. Glenn was still on the cell floor, chocking on his own blood, wheezing. Hershel was above him.

"We need to intubate him." I said quickly, plopping down to Glenn's side.

"We still have it." Hershel spoke. "Stay with him. I'll get the bag."

I nodded, and watched as he pulled himself off the floor to grab the intubation tools from Henry's corpse. I roughly hit Glenn's back, trying to help him cough up the disgusting blood that was chocking him. I couldn't tell if it helped or not, but I continued the motion.

"C'mon, Glenn. You've got this. Fight it." I murmured under my breath, hitting his back repeatedly. He turned his head upwards, wheezing uncontrollably. His face was going from an unhealthy red to a light shade of blue.

"C'mon, big guy. Fight it." I whispered again. Maggie ran into the cell, grabbing Glenn's head and putting it in her lap.

"He's turning blue!" She shouted to Hershel, who was quickly hobbling his way towards us.

"Clear his airway!" He shouted back. Maggie turned Glenn's head to the side, hitting his back like I did moments before.

Hershel ran through the cell door, popping on the floor with us. "Roll him on his back."

"Dad." Maggie helplessly pleaded as she watched Glenn choke.

"Hold his arms down." Hershel ordered his daughter, cleaning off the intubation supplies with an alcohol solution at an alarming rate. "Alyssa-"

"His legs." I finished for him, nodding and holding down the Korean's lower extremities.

"Come on, son." Hershel spoke to Glenn, grabbing his thrashing head. "Come on, you know how this works." Hershel fought against Glenn's struggling head, forcing the tube into his throat. "Just relax." He connected the bag to the plastic tube. "Stay with us. Stay with us..."

Glenn's thrashing limbs slowed down, and eventually stopped, as Hershel began pumping the air bag that was now secured to Glenn. I sighed in relief.

"You're gonna be okay." Maggie whispered to her husband, kissing his sweaty forehead softly. "We're gonna be okay." She kissed him again before moving off of him.

"I didn't want you in here." Hershel told his daughter.

"I know." She responded. "I had to. Just like you." He gently wiped a bit of blood from her cheek. "Daddy." She kissed his hand.

Lizzie made her way over to the doorway, leaning against it.

"I told you to stay out." Hershel told her.

"Looks like you've got a band of misfits." I jokingly spoke, coughing soon after. I removed my arms from Glenn's legs, seeing as he already passed out.

"I reckon so." Hershel gave a small chuckle.

"Is it over?" Lizzie asked, looking down at us.

"I hope so, honey." Maggie answered, stroking Glenn's matted hair. Lizzie moved her foot, swishing her boot in what Glenn had thrown up just moments ago. I rested my back against the wall, panting. I rested my eyes for a moment, closing them.

We all heard a door creak, and I opened my eyes with a groan.

"I'll go see who it is." I offered, standing up from the ground. No one else moved from their points, so I walked down the steps. Tyreese and Bob walked through the cells, holding hunting bags full of medicine.

"Sasha." Tyreese demanded. "Where is she?"

"Uh." I spoke, raking my brain to remember. "Follow me."

"And Hershel?" Bob asked, shouldering the pack.

I pointed up the stairs. "Cell one hundred. Maggie and Glenn are in there."

He nodded, and began jumping up the stairs. I walked with Tyreese to the left of the block, going through the cells full of the sick.

"My mom. She okay?" I asked him, looking through the bars of the cells to find Sasha.

"She's fine." He responded. "She's with Daryl. Getting the truck back."

I nodded. "Thank you." I kept looking through the bars, finding his sister napping on the floor of one near the end. "Here."

He quickly opened the door, moving to the floor and waking her up. I didn't stay to watch the reunion.

I walked back through the cells, moving at a snails pace. I was so tired.

"What a hell of a day." I muttered under my breath, getting to the front of the cell. The door bursted open, my mother going through it.

Her eyes gleamed in the dark. Not a happy gleam; not the normal, joyful, excited gleam that had returned to her eyes. This one, this was from tears that had almost sprung from her eyes. "Alyssa!"

"Mom." I took a few steps back, holding my hands up. "Don't. I can't get you sick."

"Like hell you will." She responded, walking forward. She pushed my hands down, then threw hers around my small form. "Oh my god..." She whispered into my hair, her hand pushing it away from my face.

I smiled weakly into her shoulder, where my head met. I was still very short against her height. I coveted the warmth I felt from her, just a moment, before pushing her away from me as I coughed into my elbow.

"Sorry." I apologized for the cough, then plopped on the floor unceremoniously.

"Don't apologize." She said to me, sitting down in front of me. "How long have you been here?"

"'Bout... Two days? Three, maybe?" I answered, thinking. "Long enough."

"Oh, my god." She whispered. She rubbed an eye with her wrist.

"Is everyone out there okay?" I asked, crossing my legs.

"Yeah." She answered, giving a weak smile and a nod. "Everyone's okay."

"Good." I nodded, yawning. "Tonight's been one hell of a night, I can tell you that."

"I bet, Liz. Seems to me like I've missed so much." She responded.

"You didn't know."

"Yeah. I didn't know." She spoke the phrase with disgust. "I should have."

"How could you have known, mom? I didn't even know until after you guys left."

"I should have known, Liz! I'm your mother. Mothers know these things. It's intuition."

I rolled my eyes; a small attempt at being playful. "We both know that there was no possible way that this could have been found out before you left. Mom, this just... Happens." I could tell she didn't like the answer, but she stayed quiet. I attempted to change the subject. "You guys got the meds, right?"

She nodded. "Enough of it. The place was overrun, so we got what we could and ran."

"Perfect."

"You're getting it. Right after Glenn." Mom she pointed up the stairs lazily, where Glenn and Bob and the others were.

"There are people here who need it more than me." I argued lightly.

"You're getting it, Liz." She shook her head. "No use trying to fight me about it." She stood up from the floor, offering me her hand. "C'mon, let's get up there."

I groaned at her words, but took her hand and stood up. Together, we walked gradually up the stairs, pausing about two or three times for me to catch my breath. Ugh, stopping made me feel weak. I wasn't weak.

When we finally made it up the stairs and to the cell, a needle with a clear substance was being injected to Glenn's arm. I shivered in disgust; I hated needles. Maggie was with him, pumping the air to his lungs. Hershel must've gone to bed.

"Her, too?" Bob pointed to me with the needle in his hand.

Mom nodded. "Yeah." I coughed into my elbow loudly, wheezing when I finished. Mom gave me a few pats on the back, trying to help me get the shit out of my lungs.

"Sit." Bob gestured to the edge of the bed, a couple feet from where he was. Mom rested her back against the wall, crossing her arms in front of her chest. Bob continued his work of mashing pills together in a small bowl, then tossing the powder into what I think was saline. That's what doctors use, right?

Anyway, he took a spoon and mixed the two substances together thoroughly. He grabbed another needle from his bag, put the sharp tip into the medicine-infused liquid, and pulled back the plunger, sucking up all of the fluid. He then took a small packet, ripping it and grabbed a small, wet cloth and rubbed my arm with it. I think it was what doctors called an alcohol prep.

I winced as he stuck the needle in my arm. "Ugh." He pushed the substance in and pulled out the needle. Bob grabbed a small, circular band aid and put it on the injection site.

"Voilà." He grinned. "Easy-peasy."

I nodded, lightly rubbing the band aid. "Now twenty four more people to go."

"Yeah..." Bob gave me a half-grin, sarcastically adding, "That's gonna be fun."

Maggie spoke from her spot on the floor. "Alyssa, you should get to bed. Daddy told me you haven't slept at all. They're back; you should go rest."

I nodded slightly, agreeing. It felt like I hadn't slept in days.

"I'll walk you to your cell." Mom offered, uncrossing her arms and holding out her hand. Instead of taking it, I stood up by myself and walked through the door. She followed.

We walked until we found an empty cell. Mom pointed to it. "Bingo."

I nodded, and we walked into the cell. "Cozy." She chuckled lightly.

I hopped into the bed, coughing lightly. Mom sat at the edge of it, grabbing my hand gently.

"You're gonna be okay." She whispered, kissing my forehead.

I corrected her. "_We're_ gonna be okay."

* * *

_A/N: Hope y'all liked it. Next chapter is the mid season finale, and I'm soo excited to write it! Since we all know that the group gets broken up, can you guess who Alyssa ends up with for the long journey? _


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Hello there! I think I'm just gonna change my update day to Sunday, to be honest. With my messed-up week schedule, I think it'd work better for me. And, for those who know how terrible my writing of, "The World We Live In," was, you should be happy because I'm going to rewrite it. I'm not changing anything too major (probably,) except for the first chapter. I had a lot of complaints about how the first walker of the story came to be. And I totally understand, so I'm going to switch up the situation a bit to make everyone happy. I'm goign to do that once I finish up season four, so y'all have something to look forward to once this is done!_

_And, yay, here is the mid-season finale of season four!_

* * *

"Okay, son. I'm gonna need you to hold still." Hershel instructed Glenn, who had started fighting against the intubation. Hershel, Glenn, Maggie and I were on the floor of the cell that Glenn had stayed the night in. The remnants of his... Emergency last night was still all over the floor, the blood dried and a dark red. It was just about morning, the sun shining very dully through the distorted glass of the windows of the block. That's what this cell block does to everything.

"Alyssa. Legs." Hershel told me. I went to Glenn and attempted to stop his legs from kicking. "Maggie. Arms." She went to the thrashing extremities and held them down. Hershel then took out the tube from Glenn's throat, quickly yet delicately.

Glenn gasped, taking in a great breath of air. His hands immediately went to his throat, rubbing it. His lips were curving, as if he were about to say something, but Hershel held a hand up.

"Don't try to speak just yet. It'll hurt." He smiled at his son in law. "Just focus on breathing for a bit. Try to talk in an hour, okay?"

Glenn nodded to the farmer, and mouthed out the words, "thank you." Hershel just smiled.

He turned to me. "How are you feeling, dear? Your color seems to be returning."

I gave a full toothed grin. "I'm feeling better. Not a hundred percent better, but I've been worse."

"Good. The medicine is working wonders. I think we could get you out of the cell block as early as today."

"That'd be amazing."

He stood up from the floor, brushing dust off of his pants. "I'm going. I'll be back before sundown to check on you two. Maggie, are you gonna stay in here?"

She nodded to her father, holding one of Glenn's hands in between her own.

"Okay. I'll be back soon." He walked out of the cell, his footsteps echoing around the block. I looked at Glenn's face. It was much better than last night. The circles around his eyes were almost nonexistent. The pale complexion to his skin was better than before. And he wasn't as sweaty, though his hair was still a matted mess. All in all, he was better. And I was glad my friend was better.

"Alyssa." Hershel's voice echoed through the block. I furrowed my brows, but walked out the door and down the stairs. He was at the front of the block, near the conference room. "You have a visitor."

"I do...?" I responded. He gestured to the conference room, so I walked into it. In the other one was Carl, a relieved grin on his face.

"Holy crap!" I beamed at him, jogging to the glass. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you." He replied, his hand on the glass.

"I'm leaving, Alyssa." Hershel said from the door. I turned to him, nodding. "He can't come in here. You may be better, but others aren't. You'll see him outside later. Got it?"

"Yeah." I agreed with him, giving a playful grin. "I won't sneak him in."

"I'm sure you won't." He gave us a cheeky grin, his voice teasing. "I'll see you later." He then left us, closing the door behind him and leaving me and Carl.

"Why are you down here?" I asked Carl again, shaking my head.

"To see you." He answered me. "I'm making sure you're getting better."

"You idiot." I grinned, placing my hand on the glass, reflecting where his was.

"Yup. But a cute one." He winked at me. I rolled my eyes in return.

"How is everything out there?" I asked, the playful tone leaving my voice. His grin wavered.

He took his hand off of the glass, dropping it to his side. "We lost the fence to the west last night. Dad and I tried to reinforce it, but the buildup was just too much. It broke under the pressure."

I dropped my hand to my side. "Any casualties?"

He shook his head. "No. Dad and I got rid of the walkers. No one got hurt."

"That's great. And my mom?"

Carl gulped. "She may or may not have started getting ready for a hunt."

For once, I was happy that she was leaving. "Good."

"Good?" He repeated my word.

"Yeah." I replied. "She's needs to get her mind off of me being in here. Hunting the Governor would get me out of her head."

He shrugged his shoulders in response. "I think she should be able to find better ways to relax, you know?"

"She should." I agreed. "But we both know my mom's a wild card. She does what she wants. She'll be safe about it."

"I hope so." He murmured. I only nodded in response. We stood there together, in a peaceful quietness. I rested my forehead against the cool surface, comfortably lying there. Carl did the same on the other side. I gave a small smile. We didn't even have to talk. Just being near him calmed me down.

"How's Glenn?" He broke the silence, but didn't move from his spot. I was glad; I didn't want him to.

"Better." I replied quietly. "Maggie's with him now. He was much worse last night. He's been breathing on his own since this morning."

"And the others in there?"

"We lost a few. Five or six, if I counted correctly. Lizzie and Luke are okay. Sasha is better."

"At least you guys are getting better."

"Yeah. I can finally breathe without my lungs feeling like crap." And it's true. My lungs are better, my skin is brighter, and my bones and joints don't ache as much.

"Mini victory."

"Yeah. Finally." I chuckle. We stood there a moment, until Carl (albeit reluctantly,) moved from the glass.

"I should go." He said. "Dad's probably wondering where I am."

"You didn't tell him?" I raised an eyebrow at my sneaky boyfriend.

He then "nonchalantly" whistled. I laughed. "Again, you're an idiot."

He slyly smirked. "And I repeat, a cute one."

I laughed at his remark, and bid him goodbye. I made my way back up the stairs to my empty cell, the one I slept in last night. I sat down on the bed, sighing loudly. I can't wait to finally get out of here.

* * *

A knock on the concrete wall brought me out of my thoughts. I looked out the door, seeing Maggie.

Her southern accent was heavy as she asked me, "Want to help me grab some water?"

"The water bins are in the courtyard. Near block C." I stated.

"I know."

I raised an eyebrow at her. "I can't leave the block."

"Daddy said he'd be able to let you out today, remember?"

"That's supposed to be later, though."

She gave me a small smile. "You're fever is nonexistent. You can breathe without problem. The color is returning to your cheeks. I'm sure daddy wouldn't mind if you went out with me to grab some water."

I grinned wickedly. "Okay." I hopped off the bed, readjusting the belt that I keep my knife in. The knife itself had been uncomfortably hanging from it. The holster that hung on my right leg was empty. Normally, my Glock was would be resting in it, but Hershel took it from me. When I was put into that office for quarantine all those days ago, he took it. I protested, but of course he wouldn't let me keep it. He said that my knife was all the protection I needed.

Together, Maggie and I had walked down the stairs. She went to the door, grasping the handle and opening it up. I glanced at it, almost admiring it. It was like a gateway to freedom.

"C'mon." She grinned to me, nodding her head to the squeaky hinges.

I walked through the door, and Maggie trailed behind me.

"I'm finally out." I grinned again. I was so happy, even if I was free for just a moment. It certainly lifted my spirits up, rather than being in the dark and dreary cell.

"And soon Glenn will be, too." Maggie added.

"Yeah, he will." I agreed with her. We both walked to the main door, the one that lead to the courtyard. I opened this one, letting Maggie out first. When I did walk out, the glare of the sun burned my eyes. Instead of hissing at it, like I normally did, I welcomed the annoying burn. I haven't felt the sun on my skin in days, or feel it burn my eyes. It was an annoying luxury that one couldn't have while in cell block A. So, instead of being angry at the sun, I closed my eyes and opened my arms, letting the rays beat down on my skin. A cheery laugh escaped my throat.

I quietly moaned. "I missed this."

"I bet." Maggie spoke from my left. I still hadn't opened my eyes.

"It's so dark in that cell block, y'know? And I almost forgot what fresh air smelled like." I took in a deep breath of air, filling up my lungs with the delicious breeze. I opened my eyes, looking at Maggie. "It's so peaceful out here."

"Yeah." She quietly agreed. "It is." She started walking to the water bins, where Beth was filling up a baby bottle.

"Maggie!" Beth exclaimed, quickly setting the bottle down on the wooden table and grabbing her older sister in a hug. "You're back."

"Of course I am." Maggie smiled into her sisters hair. I smiled at the mini reunion.

"Alyssa, you're out too!" Beth happily spoke, releasing her sister and grabbing me instead. I laughed lightly as she did so. "Oh, I'm glad you're feeling better."

"Me, too, Beth." I replied as she released me from her grip.

"Oh, here." She yanked something from her belt. It was my Glock.

I took it from her hands, gingerly holding it. "Why'd you have this?"

"I grabbed it. After you were put into the office, in the administrative block, daddy put it with the other weapons. I took it when I went to grab Judith's food, 'bout five or six days ago. Just so I had protection. I hope you don't mind."

I shook my head at her, checking the clip and securing it into its spot on my holster. "O' course not. It was smart. You had protection."

She gave me a smile, and she grabbed the baby bottle again. She began to fill it up while Maggie and I grabbed two thermos containers that were hanging above the bins. And when I say, "Maggie and I," I mean just Maggie. I'm too short to grab them, so she grabbed two and handed one to me. Then we both began to fill up the thermos with warm water.

That's when we heard an explosion.

The blast nearly shook the three of us off our feet, but we managed to stay standing. The three of us looked at each other, as if we could send telepathic messages. The message was, "run."

Maggie, Beth, and I bolted from the side of the courtyard into the middle, where we met Rick, Carl, Daryl, and Tyreese. Bob and Sasha jogged to where we were too. The group of us stood at the fence, near a wall of concrete. We were close to the gate.

At the road in front of the main fence surrounding the prison was a group of cars. There was also a tank in the middle of the pile. People with weapons stood around them, as if trying to look intimidating. Most faces were upset, though. I suspected they didn't want to be here. The final detail I noticed was the Governor, standing proudly on top the tank, grinning charmingly.

"Rick!" The Governor shouted proudly from his tank. "Come down here. We need to talk."

"It's not up to me!" Rick shouted back, standing in front of our group. "There's a council now. They run this place."

The Governor replied without skipping a beat. "Is Hershel on the council?" He turned to his left, making a "come here" motion with his hand. A person opened the door to a car, grabbing a tied up Hershel from the front. I tried to block out the gasps of despair coming from the Greene girls behind me as the lady pushed their father to his knees.

"What about Michonne?" The Governor asked, once again silently asking a friend to grab his other prisoner from the car. Out came my mother, hands tied behind her back. "She on the council, too?"

I gasped loudly, tears welling up in my eyes. I ran to the fence, grasping it tightly with my hands. I almost shouted.

A large, calloused hand lightly grabbed my shoulder. I turned, looking at the person. It was Daryl, shaking his head at me. He whispered. "Don't. He wants you to freak out." I gulped loudly, but gave a shaky nod. My heart thumped loudly in my chest as my mom was pushed down on her knees.

"I don't make decisions anymore!" Rick shouted back.

The Governor shook his head, as if he were disappointed at Rick's words. "You're making the decisions today, Rick. Come down here. Let's- let's have that talk."

Rick looked to Daryl, his hand still on my shoulder. Rick and Daryl silently nodded to each other, agreeing that Rick needed to go down there. The sheriff turned to his son, moving his hand up to his son's face.

"We can do this. Alright?" Rick asked his son quietly. Carl nodded to him.

The group silently moved, Daryl and Rick going to the left. The archer opened the gate for Rick, who walked through it and began his journey down the rocky trail. I stayed close to the Greene's, watching the two captives intently. The sisters beside me were holding hands, both sets of knuckles going white with the force. Daryl closed the gate, watching the leader, before moving back to us.

"We can't take 'em all on." He told us, looking at the enemy group and doing a head count. "We'll go through the admin building, through the woods like we planned. We ain't got the numbers no more. When's the last time someone checked the stash on the bus?"

Sasha answered. "Day before we hit the Big Spot. We were running low on rations then. We're lower now."

"We'll manage." Daryl gave a subtle shrug of his shoulders. "Things go south, everyone heads on that bus. Let everybody know."

"What if everybody doesn't know when things go bad?" Tyreese asked. "How long do we wait?"

"As long as we can." Daryl replied, walking to our right. I kept my eyes on the two rivals at the front of the prison. I couldn't hear much of what they were saying, but I could tell it wasn't anything good. Rick was pacing at the front, and the Governor just happily looked down at him. He was enjoying Rick being scared.

I heard something to my right; a slight screeching sound. It was only slight, though. I didn't pay attention to it. I kept my eyes pinned to my mother on the ground. It was the murmurs that got my attention.

I finally looked over to my right, looking at the others. Daryl had rolled the bin of large rifles over, handing them out to the people behind the concrete wall. Bob held one, Maggie and Beth as well. Sasha, Tyreese, and Carl too.

Daryl held one out to me. "You know how to use these?"

I shakily nodded. "Yeah."

He gestured to it, and I grabbed it from his hands. He tossed me two extra clips of ammo, which I stuffed into my pockets. Daryl grabbed one for himself, sticking the barrel in a hole through the chain-link fence. I followed suit on his left, resting the tip of mine a few spots over. Carl did the same on Daryl's right.

We all watched Rick and the Governor communicate in an agitated silence. My heart continued to thump loudly, the blood rushing in my ears and my hand itching to pull the trigger on my gun. _something_ has to happen. My mom HAS to be safe. She can't die!

"We got to do something." Carl said to my right. I nodded, silently agreeing with him.

"You're dad's got it." Daryl gruffly answered, adjusting his hand to grasp the gun.

"They're _talking_." Carl spat. "We could kill the Governor right now."

"From fifty yards?" Daryl countered.

"I'm a good shot." Carl argued back. "I could end this right now."

"Yeah. Or you could start something else."

"Daryl's right." I whispered with a sigh. I wanted to do something, but I knew I couldn't. It was a bad idea. "It's best to just let Rick do what he's doing, Carl. Nothing we can do without all hell breaking loose. Just trust him."

Carl just grunted in response. The three of us watched Rick and the Governor talk in silence. I couldn't make out the words they were saying. I wish I could've.

The Governors smile fell off. Instead of his "Gotcha!" demeanor, he became agitated. Seems like Rick was wearing him down. He jumped of off the top of the tank, moving to his left as one of his goons handed him something. It was my mothers' katana. He held it against Hershel's neck, a warning gesture.

"No!" Maggie yelled. Beth was at her side, weeping openly.

Rick tried to take control of the situation. I still couldn't hear what he was saying, but it seemed to be working. Hershel, though he was under a strong blade, smiled at the sheriff. The Governor, his face covered by a frown, listened to what Rick spoke. His hands, still grasping the hilt of the katana, was lightly moving the blade centimeters away from Hershel's neck.

And then he brought it back down with force. Slicing it against Hershel's neck.

Maggie and Beth _screamed. I _screamed. Daryl and Carl's eyes widened. Hershel's body fell to the side, bleeding profusely from his neck.

"NOO!" Rick yelled, yanking his Python from his side and shooting the Governor's shoulder.

It was like the gates of Hell were opened.

Everyone started shooting their weapons, on both sides. I shot my weapon at the tank, attempting to hit the man that shot down our watch tower. Thinking quickly, he was the one to be worried about. He had a tank, for fucks sake! The man hopped into the tank bed instead, firing at intervals where he thought he was safe.

My eyes looked at the ground, where mom and Hershel were. Hershel was slowly inching his way to the back of the cars, leaving a large trail of blood behind him. My heart broke for the man. He must be in so much pain.

I couldn't find my mom, and my heart rate sped up ten times. I continued using my rifle, shooting at anyone on the other side. I managed to hit two people, and I watched as their bodies hit the ground, blood leaking through holes I made in their body. One I hit in the head. The other, the heart. Adrenaline pulsed through my veins as I did.

I wasn't sure if it was a good thing or not.

The guy in the tank hopped back in the body, rolling it forward. Straight through the fences. Destroying anything and everything in its path.

Breaking the home that this group has worked so hard to achieve.

It was hard to keep up with the chaos ensuing. Everybody on the Governors side shot at us; the prison group shot back. I already had to change my clip once. Maggie and Beth, who were at my right side, both crying tears of despair, took off to get to the bus.

"Liz, go with 'em!" Daryl instructed me in his thick southern twang.

"I'm not leaving you guys!" I shook my head defiantly, shooting at the men and women that were barging through the broken fence. I hit another three in just a few seconds.

"Yes you are!" He commanded, shooting his rifle. "Go!"

"But mom-!"

"She's fine." He told me in an urgent tone. "She's behind the cars over there. I saw her run."

What he told me slightly eased my pounding heart. She was okay. For now.

I growled. "Fine."

I yanked my gun to my side, running with it. I met up with Beth and Maggie behind Sasha, Tyreese, and Bob, the three of us running from one side of the courtyard to another. We made it to the side of the bus, each of us panting as we took cover from the oncoming bullets. The tank took another shot at us, rattling each of us like we were bowling pins. The concrete wall to cell block A shook and broke, a new large hole in its side.

Maggie ran over to the door of the block, but Beth cried out. "Maggie, don't!"

"Glenn's in there!" Maggie shouted. "I have to get him!"

"I'm going with you!" Beth cried.

"Get these people on the bus." Maggie quickly told her sister. "Be ready to drive. I'll be right back."

"What if you're not?" Beth asked, her whole body shaking.

"You have to go without us."

"I won't go without you!"

"Beth! Beth. Get these people on the bus." Maggie gave Beth her own rifle. "It's your job. We've all got jobs to do." Maggie then took off, unarmed, to the door.

"I'm going with her." I ran after Maggie's jogging form.

"No! We have to get-" Beth began, but I interrupted her.

"She is unarmed! I have to cover her." I spoke quickly. I didn't wait for a reply. I just ran to Maggie, and together she and I pounced through the door, running past people and taking cover whenever the block shook from a tank blast.

We found the Korean running slightly down the stairs of the block.

"Glenn!" Maggie shouted, running faster. I followed suit.

"What the HELL is going on?" He demanded. He made it to the bottom of the stairs, breathing heavily.

Maggie grabbed his shoulder, holding him close to her side. "We have to get everybody out of here."

"What's happening?!"

"Glenn, we gotta go!" I shouted, ducking as the tank took another hit at the block.

Maggie and I both threw Glenn's arms around our shoulders, helping him move quickly to the open door. We ran together outside, hobbling around the war zone. The tank took another shot at the block, and the three of us all ran for cover. We finally made it to bus, where I was shooed in first. Glenn hopped in after me, and Maggie stood at the steps.

"Beth!" Maggie yelled into the bus, looking for the younger blonde. She was nowhere to be found. Maggie looked at the driver, Alice. "Where's Beth?!"

"She went to find Judith." She answered. Glenn and I turned back to Maggie, who was already making her way out the door.

"We'll find her." Glenn hurriedly spoke, going to the steps to where Maggie was. "She'll be okay."

"No." She pushed Glenn back into the bus.

"What? You're not going by yourself." Glenn said, his voice raspy. He fell lightly on the floor, his whole body shaking.

"I'll be right back." Maggie ran out the door, leaving Glenn on the floor as she went to look for her sister in what used to be our home.

"Maggie..." He called after, but she didn't turn back. He hit the bus door with a closed fist.

"C'mon, get up." I said to him. He stood up with some difficulty. "We're going after her."

He nodded to me, determination pure in his eyes. "Let's go."

"We're leaving." Alice said to me. "You get off this bus now, we're not waiting for you."

Glenn and I looked at each other, silently agreeing. He spoke. "Good. Don't wait up. Just go."

He and I walked out of the bus, and Alice closed the door behind us, driving away with the others. He and I began our semi fast trek to cell block C, yanking the door to its side and coughing as the dust from the broken walls entered our lungs. He took the first steps in, calling for Beth and Maggie. I took a look outside, my heart dropping as I saw our home crumbling, right before our very eyes. I looked at the fields, the large weeds and grass billowing in the breeze. I saw a figure jumping through them, ducking every so often as they heard gunshots. The person took out a katana, slicing off a walkers head as it got close to them.

_Mom_.

"Glenn, I gotta go." I spoke the words quickly, letting go of the door.

He grabbed the door to keep it from slamming. "What?! Why?"

"Mom." I said her name, relieved that I was able to keep my eyes on her figure through the pasty yellow woods.

"We need to stick together!"

"Glenn, you've got this. Find Maggie, stay together." I held up my rifle. "I can take care of myself."

He gave me a pained expression. I could tell I was losing.

"Glenn." My voice dropped down an octave. "She's my mom. I have to."

He seemed to be having a mental battle with himself, but nodded. "Go. Stay safe."

"Thank you." I rushed the words out, and ran as fast as I could through the courtyard to the fields. People were dying left and right. Hell, I was helping them. I took quick shots with the rifle in my hands, ducking when the spray of bullets from the other group got close to me. When I ran out of bullets, I dropped the gun to the grass. I traded it for my Glock, which I was a far better shot with. I hit three more people in my run to the fields.

"Mom!" I shouted as her back was turned to me. "Mom!"

She turned around to look at the person who was yelling at her (me.) There was a fire in her eyes, a light burning so bright with determination and passion. The light flickered and dimmed when she saw me. Instead, it was replaced with relief.

"Alyssa!" She smiled through unborn tears. She took two large steps toward me. "You're okay!"

She held her arms out so I could hug her. I smiled at her, about to take a step forward. That's when a searing hot pain hit me.

I felt my shoulder being thrown against the dirt and weeds on the ground, the red seeping through my shirt. I first felt a heat in my right shoulder, an unbearable heat. It then changed from an unbearable heat to an unbearable pain. The pain coursed from my shoulder to my head, all the way to my toes. So much pain. The sounds of the fighting around me dulled. The screams, the screeches, the sounds of guns being shot. Nothing. I could hardly see. Instead of moving figures, there was tunnel vision. Everything morphed together. Just blobs of color instead of moving figures and inanimate objects. No sound, no vision; just pain.

What just happened to me?

* * *

_A/N: Hope you liked it! Just so y'all know, this was NOT supposed to be the ending. From the start of, "Times Have Changed," I wanted to write Alyssa ending up with Glenn after the downfall of the prison. I had the scene of her Glenn on the bridge, waking up and looking around, and her saying, "Glenn, we gotta go. We just gotta go," envisioned for so long. I was looking forward to writing her and Tara meet, along with Abraham, Eugene, and Rosita, but my plans changed (obviously.) I think the change was for the better, though (I hope.) And, I hope you people like my mini cliffhanger. Because I'm evil. Hehe _


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: Hello my lovelies! I know what you're thinking, "A chapter on a Wednesday?" Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but it's not a full chappie. Not anything close. I just wanted to put this little tease up before Saturday. Kind of like an epilogue to, "Too Far Gone," y'know? I wanted it to stand alone. _

_Oh, and just a heads up, the next chapter is going to be written in present tense. I'm not sure how that's gonna go, but I wanted to try something different. So, instead of, "he said," it's going to be, "he says," and stuff. Just wanted you to know! _

_And now, onto the tease._

* * *

No One's POV

Michonne stared in horror as Alyssa dropped to the ground in a heap, blood pooling around her right shoulder.

"No!" She screeched, turning around. Standing proudly in the field was a man, an army cap on his thinning gray hair. In his hands was a smoking .45 Colt. Michonne took no time at all striding towards him and stabbing him in the eye with her katana. She moved back to her child, bending her knees to drop to the floor.

"Ohmygod!" She cried, grasping Alyssa's good shoulder. "Come on, sweetie. Get up. You have to get up."

"Shoulder- ah!" Alyssa cried, tears flowing from her eyes. "It hurts."

"I know." Michonne said to her daughter. "But you have to get up. We have to go."

"Exit wound?" Alyssa gasped out in between pants. "Is there- an exit wound?"

Michonne moved Alyssa's shoulder strap to the side, earning a gasp of pain from the child. Michonne quickly said, "Sorry. I'm so sorry."

She searched the piece of pale skin, finding an exit wound on the other side. "There's one. Good. We can treat it."

"But not here." Alyssa panted, grasping her mothers' dark shoulders.

"Not here." She agreed. "Come on, hold onto me."

Alyssa, taking a hold on the straps of her mothers' shirt, groaned as Michonne stood up. "C'mon, Liz. You got this."

"Ahh!" Alyssa cried, moving up from the dirt. "Okay... Okay." She wheezed.

"Can you walk?" Michonne asked gingerly, holding Alyssa close with one arm. The other, her right, held her katana. If needed, she would let go of her child and use it.

"Yeah. It's my arm. I'll be fine." She answered, moving from Michonne. She took her Glock from the weeds, holding it with her left rather than her right. She and Michonne were quiet, walking through the weeds, away from the prison.


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Hello there, my lovelies! I'm super excited to finally put this chapter down, since I'm really impressed by it. Note, I wrote this in present tense. It's different from the other chapters and such. Tell me if you like it, or hate it. I want to know if I should continue writing like this. _

_So, onto the new chapter!_

* * *

Alyssa's POV

My mom is quiet as we make our way through the weeds, and I look at her. The determination is in her eyes again, and so is pain. I understand. Everything we worked so hard to achieve has been lost in the time span of an hour. And everyone we knew is probably dead.

Fuck.

_Carl_. Rick. Judith. Carol. Daryl. All gone.

The statement hits me like a ton of bricks. I begin to breathe heavily, my worry and panic setting in. That, combined with the pain of my shoulder, is just too much for me to handle. My heart pounds quicker as I think of the dead bodies we've passed. I'm not sure if any of them were my friends.

A small, whimpering sound a few paces from our right gets my attention.

I turn, seeing a woman with long brown hair lying on the ground. She has her hands on her right thigh, the calf under it bleeding.

"Help me." She whimpered. "I- I think the bullet is still in there. Someone shot it."

I shake my head, turning back to the road. The woman cried again. "Please! Don't leave me here! I'll die."

I turned sharply to look at her, ignoring Mom's stare at my back. "You came here, shooting down my home with a psychopath that killed my friend, and you think we'll help you? Think again."

I continue walking with my mother, just a few paces before the woman whimpers in pain. "Help me."

Does she really not understand? I'm not going to help her. And by the looks of it, mom isn't too keen on helping her either.

I turn back, raising my Glock to the woman's head with my left hand. It's shaking slightly; not because I am scared or feeling guilty, but because this isn't my normal shooting arm. "Shut up."

And I pull the trigger. The woman's insistent yapping has finally stopped. Good.

I ignore the look from my mother, and instead begin walking down the dirt road. "Where are we going? We should find somewhere to stay for the night. The sun is already going down."

She gives me a look; her eyebrows scrunch up and her eyes search my face. I guess she finds nothing she was looking for. Instead, she grasps the hilt of her katana, giving it a 360 degree spin. "We don't go anywhere just yet."

I raise an eyebrow, but nod. I know my mother; whatever she's thinking, she knows if it's right or not. She'll keep us safe.

We walk back into the clearing, looking at the walkers that were dangerously close to us. I trade my Glock for my knife instead, stabbing one walker in the eye. Mom and I continue to walk to the gate of the burning prison, taking out walkers that get close with our silent weapons. I groan a little each time as I stab one. I am not left-handed, so that makes my situation a little more difficult. And no matter how I move, my shoulder aches.

Mom and I move to the man-made spikes at the main gate, hopping over them with ease as two walkers follow us. They impale themselves into the spikes, just as planned. I knew what mom was thinking; she was going back to her old ways. Keeping two pets to mask our scents, taking off the jaws and arms of each.

My suspicions were correct. Mom, in one swift motion, cut the rope off of the gate, pulling it into her hands as she did so. She then tosses it to me.

"Hold this." She spoke the words gruffly. I did as she asked, taking the white-ish rope as she cut off the arms of both walkers. Then went the jaws. She takes the rope from my hands, cutting it and making one loop in each. She tosses the loops over the necks of the walkers, and hands one rope to me.

_Yay,_ I think sarcastically_, I get a walker to myself_.

"You're still bleeding." She says to me. "You need the cover more than I do."

She and I then walk away from the spikes, moving to our right. I hear a snarling sound beneath us, so I look down. A few feet away from our bodies is the head of Hershel, his undead jaw chomping down lightly on nothing. I close my eyes, my heart breaking as I hear mom's katana slice through his skull. He was such a good man. He didn't deserve the pain that he went through. The slight _SHLINK_ of the blade coming out of the head leads me to believe it was safe for me to open my eyes.

Mom stood up from the dirt, yanking her walker with her as she walked to the woods. I followed suit, groaning from the movement that was needed to pull the walker.

"Mom. Where are we going?" I ask her, tugging on the walker so it follows us.

"Anywhere but here." She replies, pushing leaves from her face as we entered the forest.

Leaving our former home for the last time.

* * *

Mom and I walk down a dirt path in the woods. I can't remember if I've been down this one or not. It seems familiar, but then again, all the roads look the same to me.

We trudge through a clearing and walk down an uneven slope. In the road in front of us, there are tracks in the mud. Two tracks. One is smaller, so a child. The other, I can't tell if they are walker or not. They are stronger on one foot, so if it is a human they must have a sprained or broken ankle. Both tracks are going to the right from where we are standing.

Mom looks at them, thinking a moment. I stop my walker pet from moving, and await her answer. She turns to the left, away from the tracks and instead to the forest.

"Mom, shouldn't we follow them?" I ask, but pull my walker to the left as she begins to walk.

"No." She answers simply, quiet.

"Why?" I press. She turns to me, and I stop walking.

"We don't know who they are."

"They could be from the prison. We could know these people."

She shakes her head. "Possibility. It could also be from the Governor's group. Someone could have gotten out of there alive, just like we did. They could be from a whole 'nother group, for all we know!"

I look down at the tracks, taking a deep breath. "So, just like the old days, huh?"

She nods sternly. "Just you and me. Can't afford to find any other people. Not with you in your condition."

"Mom, I'm fine." I try to talk, but she interrupts.

"No, you are NOT fine! You were shot. That is not fine."

I am in no mood to argue, so I settle for huffing angrily and yanking my walker into the woods. "Let's go. We have to find shelter for the night. And something to help with my shoulder."

I hear mom walking behind me, so I smile softly. _I win,_ I thought.

She and I continue our trek through the forest, coming across an abandoned car near another road. It is big enough for her and I to sleep in. She and I give each other looks.

"It's as good a place as any to stay the night." I speak up. "And I'm not sure of we'd be able to find another place before dark any way."

She nods to me. "Check the front of the car. See if there's anything useful inside. I'll check the trunk."

I nod back, and make my way to the car. I have to use my knife to get inside. The damn thing was locked.

I tie up the ropes to my pet walker on the door handle, securing it tightly before hopping into the front seat. I look through the glove compartment on the passengers' side, finding a small stack of old newspapers. Nothing exactly helpful, unless mom wants to know who won the Super Bowl of 2006.

I look in the backseat. Empty.

"Nothing." I say as I jump out of the car. "Find anything?"

"Old first aid kit!" She grins, pulling it from the trunk. I notice that her pet walker is tied up to the back door handle.

I grin back. "Nice catch." She pulls the trunk shut, first aid kit in hand.

Mom strides her way over, beckoning me to sit on the hood of the car. "C'mere." She pats the hood twice.

I comply, setting my Glock to my side as I hop onto the dark blue metal. She opens up the white and red case, searching through it until she finds every single gauze pad she could and a gauze wrap. She also takes a small, used, curl of medical tape to secure the gauze.

"How's this going to work?" I ask, eyeing the pads as she rips them open.

"I'm gonna need you to help me." She answers. "We both need to put pads on each side, and I'm gonna unwrap the wrap over them. Then I tape it. Hopefully, it'll hold and stop the bleeding."

I nod as she speaks, and pull my clothes from my shoulder. I wince as I do so, but keep quiet. No use making noise when it isn't needed.

Mom hands me an uneven stack of gauze pads, which I gingerly take from her. She takes the rest from their spot on the car, pressing them against the wound on the back of my shoulder. I cry out a little.

"Sorry!" She rushes out the word. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine." I say, breathing a bit raggedly as I press my own stack against the front wound. "It needs to be done. I know."

I grunt a little, but I don't cry out again as mom wraps the gauze around the wounds. She then takes three large pieces of medical tape, securing the gauze in its place. When she finishes, I pull back up my shirt and bra strap to their rightful places. I attempt to roll the shoulder, but deem it as a bad idea and stop mid-movement.

"Good?" She asks me.

"As good as it can be." I shrug. I look up at the sky, watching the bright blue hue leave as the pinks and purples take over. "We should hop in. It's getting dark."

"Yeah, we should." She agrees. Together, we hop into the car, closing the doors tight. We can't lock them, but if the pet walkers do their jobs right, we shouldn't have to worry about that. Mom takes the front seat, lying horizontally over the passenger and drivers seats. I take the back, lying down on my left shoulder. I stare up at the ceiling, listening to my mothers soft snores. Eventually, I drift off into a dreamless slumber.

* * *

I awake before my mom does. I groan at the stiffness in my neck and shoulders, and I try to stretch out my muscles. I smile as I feel and hear satisfying pops in my back, and I stretch out my left shoulder. The right I keep stiff; I don't want to try and stretch it out until the wound heals a bit more.

I look over the seats in front of me and take a look at the sleeping form in them. I begin to frown. Mom is trashing around in her sleep, her normally stern face contorted into a frown and a silent scream. Her breathing is quick and ragged.

I quickly open the door to my left and jump out of the car, only to wrap around and jump into the front seat. I move Mom's legs to the left so I have a small amount of space to sit in.

"Mom?" I say her name as if it were a question. "Mom, wake up." I gently nudge her shoulder and shake it a bit. "Come on, mom. Wake up! Wake _UP_!"

She nearly screams as she opens her eyes. She pulls her body to a sitting position in less than a second, gripping the dashboard of the car. Her breathing slows down in the minutes that pass.

"Andre?" I whisper.

She nods. "Mike and Terry, too."

I rub her forearm consolingly. It wasn't the first time she's had nightmares about her past. She used to have them every other night when we first met. It was like the universe wanted her to tell me about them. Her three year old son, Andre, and her fiancé, Mike. Terry was a close friend of Mike's before the world went to shit. She never told me the whole story of what happened; just that the four of them were in a camp, and it got overrun. Mom was the only person that lived through the camp.

"It's okay." I attempt to console her. It used to work back then. "You're okay. We're okay." I bend my head down, listening to the sound of her breathing. I can tell that it's going to happen soon. She's like a rubber band being stretched. She's going to snap.

She abruptly grabs me, pulling me close to her. I wrap my arms around her slender figure, allowing her to hug me tightly.

We stay there a moment, holding each other close. I'm happy that she's hugging me, but I hear more walker growls outside. I listen to the snarls out the window. Definitely more than our two pets.

"Mom-" I start, but she interrupts.

"I know." She releases me from her death grip. "We gotta go." I nod.

She and I get out of the car, grabbing our pets in the process. I look around at the dull scenery; just a few trees in the clearing and the dirt beneath our feet. As I thought, there are more walkers around us than there were before, but they aren't attacking us. The pets are doing their jobs well.

"Let's go." Mom says. I nod to her, and we walk through the thick maze of trees side-by-side, surrounding ourselves in the green brush. We are silent as we trudge through the dry, crumbling dirt.

Once, I twisted my neck over to look at mom. She was walking a bit slower than usual, and was staring at a walker intently, as if she knew the person before they died.

_Huh_, I thought, _weird_.

She eventually just shook her head and stared ahead. Better, I think. We continue to walk through the tall weeds, surrounded by a small herd of walkers. Normally, I'd be freaked out, but the pets that we have continue to mask out scent. I close my eyes a little and tilt my head upwards, and feel the heat of the sun on my lightly tanned skin. The sun, though it can get _really_ annoying, is nice to feel. We've been walking in its heat for hours now, so it is on the borderline of, "comforting," and, "okay, stop it."

I open my eyes, taking a quick peak at my mother. I begin to frown. What was she doing?

I watch as she turns to look at a walker, and she takes a step backward, nearly into a tree. She had a look of confusion and guilt on her face.

"Mom?" I ask quietly. I don't want to attract walkers, since we were in a field of them, but I want to make sure my mother is okay.

She drops the rope of her pet walker and instead takes her katana out, screaming, "No!" as she slices the face of the one in front of her in half.

"Great." I mutter. The sound of the walker-killing grabs the attention of the others around us. She places her hands on her knees, panting for a moment, before standing up and killing another. And another. And three more.

"Ugh." I groan, but drop my walker pet and proceed to take out my knife, helping her kill more. Worry sets in as I hear mom pant and hyperventilate. Every single time she kills a walker, she screeches out, "No! No no no!"

She takes out most of them, for she has a larger weapon, but I do my share and take out a portion of them. When we finish, she kills the ones that were our pets. Mom stands, unbalanced, as she continues to pant and hyperventilate. The sword in her hand gleams wickedly with walker blood.

"Mom!" I nearly shout her name as I walk in front of her. "What the _HELL_ was that?!"

She walks backward, away from me. Her face is alight with sadness, and guilt passes through me. I just _yelled_ at her.

She begins to sob in front of me. I take a step forward, closer to her. She continues to sob, holding her katana in her left hand.

"Mom." I repeat the name about four times, getting closer to her and gently pulling the katana out of her hand. I toss it to our side, onto the tall grass and weeds. I put my hands on the sides of her face, pulling her head down so she can look at me.

"Mom." I say her name again, and I see that I finally get her attention. "Look at me. LOOK. AT. ME."

She brings her chocolate brown eyes to my hazel ones, and my heart nearly cracks in half as I look at the numerous amounts of tears flowing through them.

"Look at me." I repeat the phrase one last time. "We're okay. Say it."

She chokes back a sob, but complies. "We're... Okay."

"Good." I smile encouragingly to her. "That's right. We're okay. We're going to be okay for a long time. You got that?"

"Oh, Liz." She cries, looking up at the sky. We both drop to the ground, sitting on the dirt and grass.

"Say it! We're going to be okay." I tell her again.

"We're going..." She chokes. "To be... Okay. We're going to be okay."

"Good. That's right. We're goin' to be okay."

She repeated the phrase one last time, then pulls me in for a big hug. We lie on the grass together, holding each other close. She doesn't let go for a while.

* * *

We walk to the dirt and mud road, the one we passed the night before. Mom bends down to look at them, and then stands up.

"We don't have to do this y'know?" I say to her as she starts following the tracks.

"I need to." She states, beckoning me to come with her. "There are two tracks. The first have to be a kids. The second, I'm not sure if they're a walker or not. If they are, the kid wasn't worried about it. If they're humans, that person is in bad condition. They're limping a lot."

I nod while listening to her. I came to the same conclusion earlier. Daryl taught us both well. I have no trouble believing that he came out of the prison. He was a fighter. Always has been and always will be. If anyone got out of the prison, it'd be him.

"C'mon." Mom brings me out of my thoughts, and I go to her. We walk side by side down the road, quiet. At some point during the trip, Mom's hand reached for my own. I gladly took it, intertwining our fingers and holding her hand tightly.

We eventually make it to a paved road, cracked and littered with dead bodies and walkers. Mom leaves me for a moment while she takes out the ones on the left side of the road. I got the right. It is a fairly easy job, since the road is small and the amount of walkers is so little. She and I continue our walk after the small walker killing, and we make it to a small shack, and old sign above the door stating that it was, "Joe and Joe Jr's BBQ Shack!"

She and I walk through the open door, and find a dead walker lying in the middle of the bar area. Its skull is bashed in, for the most part, and there is a hole to the side of its head. Someone must tried to kill it with a melee weapon, then opted for a gun.

"You check up here, I'll check the back?" I ask, taking out my knife in preparation.

She nods. "Yeah. Don't expect to find anything. People were here; if they were smart they wouldn't leave anything of use behind."

I walk silently through the old dining room, checking the tables. Nothing. I make my way over to the kitchen. I hope to find at least a fry or something left behind. Instead, I score an old jar of pickles. At least mom and I get food for the night.

I make my way back to the bar and set my knife back in its sheath on my hip. I look through the open doorway that connects the bar and dining room, looking at mom, who is sitting on the floor.

I furrow my brows as I listen to her speak. To no one. I don't even think she notices me lying against the open doorframe. "I know the answer. I know why."

"Mom..." I say, a bit louder than probably necessary, but I need to need to get her attention. I swiftly move to where she is sitting, and bend my knees, falling gently to the floor. "Is he back again? Can you see him?"

She looks up at me and whispers. "Yeah. He's right next to you."

Great, I think. She used to have hallucinations, back in the day. I didn't understand it at first, why she would think that someone dead is following us around, that she could _talk to them_, but I learned to help her chase them away. It was, and still is, better for her to not see Mike every day.

"Remember how to make him go away?" I ask her, my hands lightly grasping her knees. She nods.

"I remember." Mom answers, her eyes glassy.

"Make him go away, then. Okay? Tell him to leave. You don't need him."

She looks into the open air to my right. I shiver; it is like she is talking to a ghost that I can't see. I find it a bit scary.

"Go away." She whispers quietly.

"C'mon, you know he won't leave if you say it like that." I lightly assert. "Say it like you mean it."

"Go away." She raises her voice a bit. "I don't need you anymore."

"Better." I encourage. "Is he still here?"

"... No... He's leaving." She cranes her neck to the door, smiling. I shiver again; creepy.

"Great. We don't need him back." I stand up from the ground, showing off the pickles. "I got us dinner."

She wrinkles her nose in disgust. "Gross."

I laugh lightly. "You will eat the pickles, and you'll like it."

"Alyssa!" She lightly taps my arm, and I laugh even more.

We both sit on the floor, and I open the jar. The unappetizing fumes of pickle juice fill the air, and I groan. "Maybe we shouldn't eat them."

Mom smirks at me, an, "I knew it," gesture on her face. I roll my eyes at her childish nature, though I'm glad she smirks. It shows that her mind is in the right place at the moment. It is better for her to be annoying about old pickles than talking to a hallucination. Mom stands up from the ground and stretches her arms above her head.

"C'mon." She says, walking out the front door. "We should find more shelter before dark."

"Okay." And we walk out of the diner. We leave the old pickle jar on the floor, opened and uneaten. We pass by a walker again, which mom easily gets rid of. We continue our pursuit of finding out who the tracks belong to.

We make it down another road, where what Daryl would call, "cookie cutter houses," line both sides. Each house is a pale white or yellow, with large porches and gross floral furniture on top. In the middle of the street, an opened tin can of chocolate pudding lay rolling on its side.

"Ew." I wrinkle my nose in disgust, and move closer to it. "Who would want to eat 112 ounces of chocolate pudding?"

"Sh!" Mom quiets me, walking up the steps of a porch. Her hand is slung over her shoulder, grasping the hilt of her katana. I take out my Glock, holding it in front of me in defense. Then we look through the window curtain, seeing two figures sitting on the hardwood floor of the living room.

I gasp lightly, happy tears filling my mothers' eyes and my own. I immediately put the Glock back in its holster, and mom drops the katana. She moves a hand to her face, crying lightly into it. She begins to wipe the tears away, but more come. We both stop a moment, taking deep breaths, and we smile.

It's Carl and Rick.

Inside the home, sitting down and eating old, stale cereal.

I put my hand up to the door, knocking on it three times. I hear the _CLICK_ of a gun being cocked. Good. They were being smart. I can hear them standing up on the other side of the door, someone looking through the peep hole of the door. And Rick laughing. I can hear his mix of a laugh and a wheeze.

I can hear Carl saying, "What?" in an annoyed tone.

I can also hear Rick's disbelieving tone saying, "It's for you."

* * *

_A/N: Hope y'all liked it! Feel free to review. Or not. If you want to. But I really would like to know if present tense is a good change or not. _


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: Hello, my lovelies! Hehe, sorry I've been gone for so long. It's been crazy at my house. And there's a whole bunch of crazy shit going on in school... I just haven't had a lot of time to write, and I'm super sorry. I hope that this quite long and fluffy chapter makes up for being MIA._

* * *

Carl and Rick move the old, lumpy couch from the door. I hear it screeching against the floor, an ugly sound, but I continue smiling.

They're alive. Carl and Rick. I thought they were dead. It crushed my heart to even think of such a thing. But, of course, I think I've learned to never underestimate the Grimes boys. They live, just like mom and I. They survive.

The pasty white door opens, revealing a disbelieving Carl. I can see Rick on the couch, wheezing slightly. He is bruised and bloody, as if he were in a fight. He probably was.

I look at Carl, into his sky blue eyes that were alight with emotion. First, there was disbelief. Now, there was relief.

He doesn't say anything, and neither do I. I study his face in the quiet. His dark hair, which for once isn't covered by a sheriffs hat, is dirty and matted. His features are alight with the relief that is in his eyes. I can see dirt and dust on his oversized plaid shirt. It covers his face as well. There are stains of dark blood on his clothes as well. The dirtiness of him makes me want to ask a million questions.

"Are you okay? What happened to you? What have I missed?"

The three of us at the door stay quiet. Instead of talking, we stare at each other in relief. The only sounds are of the forest and Ricks' wheezes.

Carl breaks the silence. "You."

I give a weak smile. "You."

He flings an arm over my shoulder; the other goes over moms. He hugs us both tightly. He unknowingly put his hand on my gunshot wound, and I lightly hitch my breath in pain.

"What?" He yanks his hand off of me not a moment later, concerned. I use my hand to move the sleeve of my shirt to the side, revealing the gauze wrapping. It looks like I almost bled through it.

"What happened?" He asks, looking up at my face.

"Shot." I explain. "At the prison."

His gaze hardens, and I take a step closer to him. I rest my hand on his cheek. "Hey. I'm okay. Alright?"

He holds my hand tightly, and I smile warmly at him. I take the opportunity to try and wipe away a smear of blood that rests on his strong cheek bone.

"He's dead anyway." Mom adds in.

Carl nods. "Good."

I gently pull my hand from him, only slightly successful in my task of cleaning the blood, and walk inside the dark house. I look at Rick, who is resting on the couch.

He looks like a mess. He has many cuts across his face and arms. One eye is black and swollen. The other, a bloodshot red. His face is covered with dried blood that instantly makes him less human. It makes him take the form of a weak, feral animal. It unnerves me a bit, though I know the man beneath such a mess. There is a scarlet blotch on his left thigh leads me to believe he was shot as well. There are many other wounds on his body. He looks like he was used as a punching bag. He probably was.

I sit next to him and give him a hug. I don't want to hurt him, so it is gentle and soft.

"Hey, sheriff." I say quietly to him.

"Hey, short straw." He replies, a smile on his lips. I smile back, grateful that he is alive.

I turn to the others. "Did either of you see anyone else get out of the prison?"

My question was met with silence.

_Oh_.

I look around and take a look at the men's supplies. There isn't any baby stuff.

"Where's Judith?" I ask. Mom and I look at them. They both lower their heads and look at the floor.

Oh. _Oh no._

"I'm so sorry." I whisper, wiping a tear that escaped my eye. I watched over Judith like she was my sister. She wasn't even a year old! The pain hits my chest, churning and burning me inside. I feel a mix of anger, and pain. So much pain.

"Do you two have any supplies?" Rick changes the subject, making the weight in the room less heavy. I'm grateful for the change of subject.

Mom shakes her head and grabs the hilt of her katana, which is still slung over her shoulder. "Just us."

I nod and grab the Glock from my hip." I have a few bullets left. Got my knife, too." I release the clip and count the bullets. Six left.

"We've got some food. We got a few weapons too." Carl says, running a hand through his hair. "We should eat."

I nod, a silent agreement. I stand up from the couch and roll my neck around. It gets the stiffness out and I sigh a little in relief. No one really moves from their spots. They don't want to.

I start the train, moving into the kitchen. Carl soon follows after, and grabs a cardboard box of old, dry, stale cereal.

* * *

Mom went into the master bedroom and began looking for new clothes that will fit her. The ones she has on now are filthy; stained with walker blood, dirt, and sweat. She suggested I do the same, but I declined the offer. She needs it more than I do.

While Carl sets up breakfast, I find a small bowl in the rusty drying rack that sits to the side of the sink. I ask him for some water, which he grabs from his duffel bag. I go to the bathroom down the hall, scanning around for a washcloth. I find it in a drawer.

After grabbing the supplies, I make my way back to Rick, who is still sitting on the couch. I don't blame him. From what I can see, he took a rough beating.

I pour some warm water into the bowl, and take the washcloth, dipping it into the swirling liquid. I then start dabbing Ricks forehead, a small attempt to clean off the dry blood and dirt from his face.

I believe the water is being a coolant as well, since I hear him sigh in relief beneath my washcloth. I smile a little.

"Thank you." He whispers, closing his eyes as I continue my work. It isn't a great cleaner, but at least it takes away most of the blood. It makes him look more human.

"Don't need to thank me." I say, dipping the washcloth back into the water. As I do, the water becomes a light pink as his blood mixes into it. I squeeze out the excess water from the cloth and begin to dab his cheek this time. I wince a bit at the movement, since I'm using my right arm. "It had to be done sooner or later."

"I could've done it myself, though." He continues, rubbing his wrist absently. His brow furrows as he doesn't feel his hand meet his watch. "You didn't let me. So thank you."

"You're welcome." I answer, wiping off another smudge of blood from a piece of his beard. That is where most of the blood is, so that is where I focus most.

"I think, soon, we should leave here. Keep going." Rick tries to break the silence.

"Where would we go?" I ask, wiping a bit of sweat off his brow.

"Anywhere but here. I'd like to go somewhere where I know it's safe, y'know?"

"Mom and I were both out there. It's secure for the most part. And I'm sure Carl's checked around outside."

"Things change in an instant." He reminds me. I roll my eyes.

"I remember, sheriff. Trust me on that." I set the dirty bowl and cloth on the coffee table, and slump on the arm of the couch. "I remember everything we've done. I always have my gun on me. I know how to shoot it. My knives are my friends. I have muscle memory help me with a bow. Just because it was quiet at the prison doesn't mean I forgot anything. Carl didn't forget either. We just kept quiet about it, y'know? If we ever brought it up, you'd shut us done. But we CAN help. We're not useless. We know what it takes to stay alive. We've all got blood on our hands, Rick. All of us."

He stares at me; the stare that shows that he understands, but he doesn't want to. I can tell that my words are partly comfort to him, and partly worrisome. He doesn't know what to think about us. I hope that he comes to the decision that Carl and I aren't just dead weight. We can help.

Rick tries to stand up from the couch, and I immediately stand in front of him. I push his shoulders down lightly, and he lands on the lumpy cushions with a 'thump'.

"Oh, no." I say, shaking my head at him. "You're not going anywhere. Sit. Rest. We've got this."

He stares at me again, quizzically, but nods. I sigh.

"I'll grab you your food." I leave the room and walk over to Carl, who is filling up a bowl with stale cereal. I attempt to grab a bowl from the cupboard above me, but cannot reach it do to my small stature. Carl sees my problem, chuckles, and grabs a bowl for me.

"Thank you." I say, taking the bowl from his hands.

"Anytime, Angel." He smiles at me, and dips his head down to plant a kiss on my lips. I smile into the kiss. Though it's only been about two days since I've last seen him, I realize how much I've missed him. I'm really glad that mom and I found these two. They are vey important to us. Important to me. What if I didn't find Carl? What if it was just mom and me against the world again? I don't think I can live like that again. As much as I love her, I couldn't go back to that life. What would happen to us without these two at our side? What would I do without him?

I relax more into his kiss and set the bowl on the counter, to the side. My arms wrap around his neck and my fingers roam through his dark, sweaty locks. His wrap around my waist, pulling me closer to him. The familiarity of the kiss soothes me, and I sigh lightly.

"I missed you." He whispers, breaking the kiss only for a second.

"I can tell." I laugh lightly, before he traps my lips with his again.

I break off the kiss after another moment, and grab the empty bowl, much to Carl's dismay. I give him a small wink, and fill the bowl up with a bit of cereal. I grab a water bottle and spoon and give the small meal to Rick, which he thanks me for. I nod, say it is nothing, and head back to the kitchen. I set up my own meal and sit at the table, to Carl's right. Mom then enters the room, wearing a plain white button down shirt. Carl laughs a little as he sees moms outfit. I smile into my food instead. I've seen her wear crazier, so this style is nothing different to me.

"Do you have something to say about my extremely comfortable and attractive shirt?" Mom smirks at him as she pulls up the sleeves on her arms.

"No, no, no." Carl chuckles. "It looks... Great." But he doesn't stop the laughter that escapes his lips.

"Please." I roll my eyes playfully. "If you think this is bad, you should've seen her 'bout a year ago. She used to wear this hideous pink and white polka dot shirt."

"PINK?" Carl repeats the word, laughing more. I nod.

"Excuse me, Liz, but I thought I looked fabulous in pink." Mom adds, smiling.

"Oh, yes. It really brought out the color of your eyes." I take a bite of my cereal, playing along.

"Mhm, and don't you forget it." She winks at me as she takes a seat. I take a sip of my water as she fills up her bowl a bit with the dry meal.

"Wish we had some soy milk." She thinks aloud, setting the plastic bag on the table again.

"Seriously?" Carl asks, and wrinkles his nose for emphasis.

"Yes, seriously." Mom says, a light tone in her voice. I can tell that she is more comforted by the conversation than she was with the silence. "Have you ever tried it?"

"My best friend, in third grade," Carl begins, going into story-teller mode, "he was allergic to dairy."

"Uh-huh." Mom encourages, setting her spoon back into her and continues to listen to the story. I watch Carl smile as he tells his story. It is a welcome sight; the smile on his lips and the childish gleam in his eye, the way he sat relaxed in the chair. There is a similar affect to mom as she sits in the creaky wooden chair next to him. I enjoy seeing the small light in her eyes grow brighter with each passing sentence.

"And, every day he would bring this soy stuff to lunch. I tried it."

"And?" Mom presses.

"I threw up!" He laughs.

"Oh, yeah, right." Mom chuckles. I laugh.

"All right, all right, I ALMOST threw up!" He corrects himself. "But, I was like," he makes the motion of throwing up, "blegh."

I laugh lightly at the scene, and he continues his story with a glint in his eye. "It was so gross. I mean, literally, I would rather have powdered milk than to have to drink that stuff again. Hell, I would rather have Judith's formula!-"

He stops, the happy glint in his eye gone and instead replaced by sadness. The bright blue I had been happy to see completely vanishes. My heart nearly leaps out of my chest as I see the sorrow overtake his features.

He stands up abruptly from the table, muttering, "I'm gonna go finish my book. Gotta couple chapters left."

Mom and I stare at each other, the feeling of joy having left the room. Instead, the sound of laughter was replaced with the 'thuds' of boots hitting stairs, and then silence. Silence made us uneasy.

The rest of our meals are finished in the silence. The quietness of the house makes my stomach churn. One of the few things I miss about the prison is the noise. There was always noise in the blocks. People talking, laughing. Kids running around playing tag. Hershel's soft voice reading from the Bible. Now, it is four people in a house, the quiet deafening in our ears.

As soon as I finish my cereal, I say, "I'm gonna-"

"Go," Mom nods and grabs my bowl, "Make sure he's alright."

I nod back to her and climb up the creaky old stairs. I walk through the hall and find the bedroom of a teenager. The walls are painted a dark blue, and posters of comic books and old movies cover most of it. There is a large television set to one side of the room, many stacks of games on each side of it. I look at the bed, the sheets and bedspread matching the color of the wall. On the bed is Carl, his eyes glued to me and a comic book in his hands, which are resting on his lap.

"Sneaking into my bedroom?" He asks, a smirk playing on his lips. The smirk on his face, though shows that he is more relaxed than he was downstairs, I can tell is just a cover. The glaze over his eyes are what shows me that he is still upset. I don't blame him. I'm still upset myself.

"Oh, yes." I drawl, hopping into the bed and sitting by him. The mattress is softer, comfier than the couch downstairs. "Anything wrong with that?"

"Not at all." He replies, picking up the book and darting his eyes along the pages. I sit there, in silence, with him. The silence is a bit heavy, and it doesn't soothe my nerves.

"Hey." I whisper. His eyes dart towards me, but he turns back to the book.

"Hey." I say, a little louder this time. Still, his eyes remain on the book, but I see a smirk playing on his lips.

I roll my eyes. Typical. To gain his attention, I move closer to him and move my lips centimeters from his ear. I stay silent, smirking as I see his cheeks redden, but he doesn't move. I kiss his cheek, to see if I can get a reaction out of him. I don't. The bastard.

"HEY!" I nearly scream into his ear. He jumps, the book thrown across the bed, and he shifts to the other side of the bed in a panic.

"What the hell?!" He screeches.

I smile sweetly. "I was trying to get your attention. Did it work?"

He picks up the comic book and throws it at me. I laugh, taking the book and putting it on the bedside counter to my back. "I'll take that as a yes."

He rolls his eyes and crisply speaks, "Yes. You do."

"Then my plan worked. Yay!" I feign a cheer as he gets back on the bed.

"Why'd you need my attention?" He asks.

"I just wanted to make sure you're okay." I say, the playfulness out of my voice.

"Yeah." Carl's voice almost mimics my demeanor. "I'm okay."

I wrap my arms around his shoulders, pulling him to my side of the bed. I ignore the slight pain in my shoulder, and instead focus on the heat that Carls body produces. One of his arms move around my shoulders, the other around my middle. I rest my head in the crook of his neck. I breathe in the scent of him and close my eyes.

"Because, you know, I'm here for you, if you need me." I continue, my words slightly muffled against his neck. "If you aren't okay, it's fine. I get it."

"I know." He says, and plants a gentle kiss on my forehead. "Thank you. But, really, I'm okay."

I don't say anything back. Instead, I focus on the sound of his breathing. It is comforting to me, the sound of the thumping in his chest and the even breathing. The steady rhythm keeps constant.

I take a leg and wrap it around one of his.

"There, now you're trapped." I smile, my eyes still closed.

"Not a problem." The smirk is evident, even in his voice. I don't have to open my eyes to see it.

"Good, 'cause I'm not moving." I snuggle into his neck more, sighing contentedly.

"Neither am I."

* * *

"Kids!" My mothers voice calls through the hall. I groan, not wanting to get up and away from Carl.

The door opens and there stands my mom, her hand on the door handle and a neutral look on her face. "C'mon, we're going on a run."

I raise an eyebrow at her as I remove my leg and arms from the cowboy beside me. "Is Rick coming with us?"

She shakes her head. "No. Just the three of us. He stays."

I nod, and get up from the bed. Carl does the same on the other side. He makes it out of the room before I do, the sheriff hat resting proudly from his head and his gun in the holster strapped to his thigh. He passes mom, who is still at the door, with hardly a glance.

I walk after him, but get stopped at the door by mom.

"He okay?" She asks quietly, a look of concern on her face.

I give a small, yet noticeable nod. "He says so. I'm not sure if I believe that."

"Neither do I."

* * *

"How long do you think you'll be?" Rick asks as we walk out the front door of our camp.

The three of us going on the run had grabbed handheld weapons before moving out the door. We have hardly any ammo left. I have six bullets in my Glock. Carl has about ten in his Python. Mom has a gun with her, but no matter how much ammo she has in it, she won't use it. She always sticks to her katana. I don't blame her. It is a strong weapon that has taken out many problems, living or dead, in the past. It won't stop working now.

"Fill up a couple bags, shouldn't be too long." Mom answers, turning to Rick on the porch. In Carls' hand is an old bag. It looks to be like the type that someone would use to pack for a trip to the beach. I'm almost sure that there is probably sand stuck to the inside of it. My right hand contains an old plastic bag, the type that someone would get at the supermarket. Mom, on the other hand, carries an empty backpack on one shoulder, and a duffel bag on the other.

"It's 8:15 now." Rick says, holding an old woman's wristwatch in his hand. I guess that it has replaced his old one.

"We'll be back by noon." Mom replies, giving him a nod.

"All right, you follow her lead." Rick turns to Carl, and grabs his Python from his own holster. He hands it to Carl. "You understand?"

Carl takes it silently and tucks it into the back of his jeans. As he tucks it in, I can't help but notice the skin that shows as his shirt pulls lightly up. I bite my lip and instead turn my attention to the street before my cheeks turn red. It is deserted, a broken wasteland. Trash litters the ground and it is quiet. Too quiet for my liking.

"Hey, everything okay?" Rick asks Carl.

Carl nods silently. When he does break the silence, he says, "Yeah, I'm just... Hungry."

I can tell that it's not the truth. He just spouted out an excuse that came from the top of his head. I do not point it out, though. I leave the situation alone.

Rick turns to me. "The same thing goes for you, short straw. Listen to Michonne. Stay safe."

I smile at the mans words, and how he watches out for me. Even if he doesn't go with us, he still has my back.

I nod. "Of course. Remember what I said? I didn't lie. We've got this."

He nods back to me, an agreement. I'm glad that he finally made us his mind and trusts me. About damn time.

Before we leave, I take a step forward and plant a kiss on his cheek, the scruffiness of his beard tickling me. I give him a warm smile and walk over to mom, surveying the pavement again before I deem it safe.

"I'll see you in a couple hours." Rick bids his son goodbye, and the three of us depart from the blank porch. Honestly, it reminds me of a blank slate. Stark white. The only way anyone could tell that something was wrong is by the dust that hangs off of the light fixtures on the side.

As we start our trek, I look into the middle of the street and see the 112 ounce can of choclate pudding rolling around. I lightly kick it as we walk, and I wrinkle my nose in disgust.

"Ugh," I groan under my breath. "Pudding."

"What's wrong with pudding?" Carl asks, his tone light yet challenging.

"Nothing." I say. "In small amounts. That can was 112 ounces. Could you imagine?"

"Actually, I can." He replies, his face contoring into one of disgust. "I'm the one who ate it."

I make a sound. "Ew, gross!"

"Hey, I was bored." He shrugs his shoulders with a laugh.

"Carl Grimes! That was 112 ounces of chocolate pudding! How could you stomach so much chocolate?"

"I didn't. Almost puked afterwords." He scratches the back of his neck.

"Serves you right." I lightly punch his arm. The idiot. I mutter under my breath, "112 ounces of pudding."

We continue the walk down the street, keeping our eyes peeled for anything that moves. We take a right as we reach the end of the street and make our way to a house. The small, pastel yellow house is only one floor, so our group decides to split up and each take a few rooms of the house. I barely find anything in the bedroom and bathroom that I was told to go look through. Just a new, forest green shirt that is a bit too short at my stomach and shows my bellybutton, but it fits well enough that I decide to take it. It is better than wearing the old, walker-blood stained shirt. I have a little trouble taking off the old shirt, because of my busted shoulder, but I make do and manage to put the other one on after.

When that task is complete, I check the bathroom and find nothing of use. I check the drawer and see a roll of hair ties.

Okay, so maybe I do find something useful.

I take one and tie up my messy hair in a ponytail, and it keeps the hair out of my face. My eyes scan over the dirt mirror in front of the sink, so I take a look at myself.

I look so different. And I don't mean the new shirt. My face and hair are covered in dirt and blood. My eyes, normally a bright hazel, are glossed over. I wear a guarded expression. I look darker than normal. It makes me feel as though I'm not quite myself anymore. I probably aren't.

No, that is a lie. I know I'm not.

I shake my head, as if to get my thoughts away from the mirror. I grab a few hair ties and pull them on my wrist. Silly, yes, but helpful.

I shoulder my empty bag, disappointed, and head out the front door. I rest on the porch railing, my eyes continuously darting over the lawn and the street. There is nothing out there. Nothing. It makes me uneasy. The only sound I hear is from inside the house and the light ruffling of leaves, made by the light breeze.

Mom walks out the door, her backpack significantly heavier than when I last saw it. At least someone had a good haul.

"Anything?" She asks me, closing the door slightly behind her.

I shake my head. "Nothing. I see you've got luck."

"Yeah." She nods, and takes the backpack from her shoulder. She unzips the pack and shows me the contents. I see saltine crackers, an unopened can of crazy cheese, and two cans of chicken noodle soup.

"Food." I say, a smile on my lips. Not a lot of food, but enough that we'll all get a small meal when we make it back to the house.

"Food." Mom repeats, and zips up the pack. Together, we wait for Carl on the porch.

When he walks out the door, I see that one of his bags are filled just a bit with supplies. Instead of showing mom or I what he got, he walks past us and down the steps of the porch.

"Find anything good?" Mom breaks the silence as we follow him. "Candy bars?" He doesn't reply. He keeps to his trek through the lawn of the house he exited.

"Comic books?" Mom presses lightly. Again, he doesn't respond. He just looks in front of him, his eyes darting around the brush.

"Crazy cheese?" Mom tries one last time, with a smile.

"Huh?" Carl finally says something back, his eyebrow raised at the words.

"Bam!" Mom digs out through her bag, holding a can of "cheddar" cheese. "Crazy chesse! Found it still sealed and everything. Now, I'll be nice and let you have the first pull."

"No thanks." Carl declines.

Excuse me?

No crazy cheese?! What?

Mom slows down her steps, falling behind him a bit. "You sure?"

"... I'm fine." He replies as he adjusts the bag on his back.

Now, all three of us here understand that he is _not fine._ It is a total lie. Mom picks up on it.

She stops walking behind him. "You don't seem fine."

He stops, turning to look at her. He sighs. "I'm just tired. Okay?" He takes large strides over to the left. I sigh at the scene. Mom runs towards him, uncapping the crazy cheese and spurting the orange goop into her mouth. She catches up to Carl and makes a funny face while eating the cheese. He gives her a look before he continues his walk up the steps of another cookie cutter house.

Mom frowns, upset that she didn't manage to make him smile. I catch up to her, resting a hand gently on her shoulder before I shake my head and quietly whisper, "Don't."

She nods slightly, wiping the leftover cheese from her lips. She puts the cheese back into the duffel bag, and she and I walk in step to the porch, behind Carl.

"I'm sorry." She says and walks past us. "I'm not very good at making boys your age laugh." She walks to the door, wiping the window a bit before roughly knocking on the door to draw out walkers. I stand next to Carl as she does her job.

"I was laughing." Carl says, and grabs my hand as we stand together. Mom gives him a sarcastic, "oh, really?" look before he continues. "Inside."

Mom knocks on the door again. "Toddlers find me funny."

I raise an eyebrow at her. She is treading on dangerous waters. This is as close as anyone has gotten to knowing about her past, besides me. "Two, three-year olds." She knocks on the door again, this time a bit harsher than before.

"What do you mean, toddlers?" Carl asks. I squeeze his hand, gaining his attention. I stare at him; a strong, unwavering gaze that attempts to tell him silently, "Careful."

Mom turns to us, a look of reverie on her features. "I had a three year old son... And he happened to find me extremely funny." She turns to the door, her hand on her katana. Carl turns to me and mouths, "What?" at me. I shrug my shoulders, and drop his hand so I can grab my knife from my sheath.

Mom opens the door, and we make a small train into the house. The living room is still in pristine condition. The only thing that looks out of place is the the dust that covers the glass windows and the cabinet that holds all the good china. Mom and I discard our bags on the plush red velvet couch that rests in the middle. Carl drops his bags to the floor near the door and closes it shut. He takes out the Python that Rick gave him and keeps it in his left hand. Just in case.

"We need food, batteries, water. In that order." Mom lists, opening and closing cabinets that are a bright pink.

"Why didn't you ever tell me you had another kid?" Carl presses, his voice tight.

Mom shakes her shoulders. I see in her face that she is a bit uncomfortable in the situation. She's never told anybody anything about her past. Nobody but me. And here she is, opening up to someone else. It both confuses me and makes me a bit happy. She needs someone else that she can trust, another person she can confide in. I just hope that she is ready for such a new task.

"What was his name?" Carl demands. She drops to the floor to grab a tv remote. She sets it back on the coffee table as he asks, "Did you have any others?"

Mom takes in a deep breath, closing her eyes and them turning to the side a bit. Carl continues to ask questions. "Were you MARRIED?"

She walks away from him, breathing heavily. She pinches the bridge of her nose, clearly upset by the nonstop questions.

"Okay." She breathes deeply and holds up her index finger. She attempts to give him a smile, but it ends up looking more like a grimace. "I'll answer one questions at a time, one room at a time, and only after we've cleared it."

Carl studies her for a moment, but nods. His eyes scan over the room, looking for anything that could be of use. Finding none, he sighs. Mom leaves, and moves into the hall to inspect a little painting on the wall. It is of two rabbits in the forest, a white one and an orange one, lying down in grass with a carrot in between them.

"Want to go check the rooms upstairs?" Mom asks me. I take it as an opportunity to leave. I know how Carl acts in such games. He will not give up until he's "won" it, and mom would answer the questions. Just on her terms, and when she feels comfortable doing so. I take the opportunity to leave, for I don't want to see my mother have to answer such personal questions. I believe that saying them to one person would be enough for her.

I nod, and give her a kiss on the cheek before I bound up the stairs. I internally laugh humorlessly. Just a few days ago I couldn't run up the stairs. I could hardly breathe, let alone run. Being cooped up in that cell block with other infected had annoyed me to no end, but now...

Maybe being in that cell block wasn't so bad. Now, I'm scouring a mater bedroom, hoping to find even just a water bottle to sustain my dying thirst. It was as if the universe was throwing up its middle finger and saying, "fuck you." It is torture, this cycle that we all go through. Things were finally looking hopeful again. We had the prison. We had the medicine. Now, we have nothing.

I shake these thoughts from my head and make my way to the master bedrooms door. My hand is grasping the hilt of my knife protectively, keeping it at head level in case of an attack. When I open the pastel blue door, it creaks and screeches through the quiet. I wince at the sound, but keep my guard raised, if need be.

The master bedroom is a mess. The blue sheets are stained with a dark red. Blood. I wrinkle my nose in disgust. My eyes dart around the room, looking for anything that can be of use to the four of us. I find a water bottle on a bedside table, and take it. It is half full, so not much. But it's something.

I walk to the bathroom that is connected to the bedroom and look through. Nothing, really. I see an old tooth brush on the side of a porcelain sink. I sigh. I miss brushing my teeth.

Since the two rooms are cleared, I make my way through the hall. I find an old bedroom, one for a girl. The walls are painted a pale yellow, and there is makeup scattered along a table to the left of the bed. The sheets of it are a pink.

I look around the room, my knife still raised. When I deem it safe, the sharp weapon returns to its sheath on my thigh. I look around the room, almost finding nothing. Again.

I check the dresser drawers, and find a half-eaten bag of Doritos.

Yes!

Finally, something, at least. The girl must've kept it here for a midnight snack. Smart.

I take the bag and smile. At least it is something.

"Alyssa?" Carl calls, and I hear his heavy footsteps pound the creaky stairs.

"Over here." I reply, and set the bag with the water. A measly find, but a find nonetheless.

He makes his way over to the room and opens the door. "Ah, there you are."

I open more drawers, and look for any more food or water. Even a pair of double A batteries would be nice.

"Find anything?" He asks me, and I point to my water and Doritos. I frown a bit, embarrassed in my small rewards.

Carl nods, and flashes his eyes toward me. "Did you... Know all that stuff?"

I nod silently, and yank a desk drawer open. Nothing. Just office supplies. Pencils, pen, paper, erasers.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

I sigh and turn towards him, my back resting against the wall. He cocks his head to one side, awaiting an answer. "It wasn't my story to tell. Y'know. Stuff like that is what mom wants no one to know about. It took me 'bout a year to get her to trust me with such personal details. She feels that if others know, she's seen as weak."

"She isn't."

I shake my head, agreeing with him. "No, she isn't. But, it's how mom works. No one but you and I know that about her."

"And we've gotta keep it that way, right?" Carl's blue eyes bore into my hazel ones.

"Yeah." I nod, but do not break eye contact.

He and I stand there a moment, staring at each other in silence.

"We're leaving." Carl says to me. "Michonne wanted me to grab you."

I give him an, "mhmm," of acknowledgement. He takes a few strides toward me, until we are only a few inches apart. His eyes never stray from my own.

"Huh, I just realized-" Carl starts, lost in his thoughts. He takes the hat off his head. "You get to wear it now."

I stare at him for a moment, shocked. "What?"

"You got shot." He explains and sets it atop my head. "People who get shot get to wear the hat. My dad, me. Now you."

I put my hands on the rim of the hat, the feeling of it foreign on my head.

I look up, my eyesight almost completely covered, and smile. It doesn't quite fit me right, but I keep it atop my head and look at Carl.

"How do I look?" I ask, adjusting it so I could see him a bit better.

He smirks at me, his hands snaking around my waist. "Great."

"Hm, I better." I joked with him, and my arms move around his neck. The feeling of butterflies in my stomach grows as his mouth moves to mine, trapping my lips in a familiar kiss.

It starts off slow and sweet; the normal type of kisses we have had in the past. But, the speed of it changes, along with the passion.

Carl's arms hold me tightly, and my back is firmly pressed against the wall. His hands are on my waist, and they touch the bit of skin that isn't covered by my shirt. His lips never leave my own in the kiss, except for when his tongue glides along my bottom lip. I part my lips, and we both deepen the kiss with the action. My arms tighten around his neck and I pull him closer. He doesn't fight against my efforts, and I smile into the kiss. I moan lightly as he bites my bottom lip. The kiss is like a dance to us, and we are completely entranced in each other.

When we finally break apart, I say breathlessly, "I thought we were supposed to go meet up with mom?"

I grin as Carl pants out, "Yeah. We were supposed to."

I stand up from the wall, breathing a bit heavily. Once I regain my breath, I grab his hand. "C'mon. If we don't go down there she's gonna think we're up to something." I take the Doritos and the half full water bottle in my other hand before we leave the room.

His grin is wide as we both run down the stairs. I adjust the hat on my head when we make it to the bottom.

We meet mom in the living room. She is a bit nervous as we walk into the room. I remember the conversation that she and Carl had a few moments earlier, and search her face. I can tell that she is a bit upset, but it seems as though an invisible weight has been lifted off her shoulders.

She looks at the both of us and smirks. "Maybe I should have grabbed her instead. You two took long enough."

Carl and I both blush scarlet as we grab the bags that we had brought in. I toss my measly find into my bag, and the three of us set off.

* * *

We just turn the corner of the street where we had been staying at before we see Rick barreling toward us. In his hands is a large rifle, which is no doubt already loaded and ready to shoot. The happy demeanor between the three of us is lost when we see the unstable man walking- no, _running_, in our direction.

Rick seems to be better, because of his ability to actually run, but the look on his face shows that it is nothing to be glad about. Something bad happened at our camp, and we were not returning to see what has become of it.

"Run!" Rick hisses at us, his pace quickening as he passes us. "Go go go!"

Mom, Carl and I do not take even a second to comply. We turn our heels and run the opposite way of where we were going to earlier. The bags that are on our shoulders rustle with the items inside it and continuously make noise. I inwardly groan at the sound. It is so loud.

_We can't leave this guy alone for two seconds,_ I think.

Our little group continues running. We do not stop, not even once. When Rick finally deems it safe, we slow down to a quick walk instead of a run. We are all panting and sweaty, but that is not a big issue. Whatever happened while we were gone, I don't know. But I do know that the run was necessary. If it wasn't, Rick wouldn't have made us.

We make it to a set of train tracks. We keep to them, walking through the little gaps. The tracks are long and arduous, but we keep by them. Carl and I walk a bit more in front of mom and Rick. Which makes sense, I guess. Rick is worn out from all the running, and mom wants to stick by him.

Carls' hand reaches for my own as we walk. I take it and lace his calloused fingers with my smaller, softer ones. My eyes look from the hands to his eyes, which are significantly brighter than they were this morning. I give him a small, reassuring smile.

The rest of the walk through the tracks is long and boring. Well, it WAS boring. That is, until we find the banner.

As we walk through the tracks, we see an abandoned train car that is almost completely covered with rust. On its side hung a banner, which contrasts against the brown rust with a bright white. On the banner is:

_GO TO TERMINUS. SANCTUARY FOR ALL. THOSE WHO ARRIVE, SURVIVE._

Underneath the banner is a little map, with many marked-out trails that all lead to the same place, Terminus. There is a star written where the trails lead, a large circle around it to bold the area.

The four of us walk to it. Rick reads the words, his eyes squinting at the words. Mom looks at the words, then to Rick.

"What do you think?" Mom tentatively asks him. Carl and I look at Rick, who still has his eyes glued to the map. His eyes shift from the map to his son.

"Let's go." Rick whispers, as if unsure if that is what he wants to say. His eyes trail to me, quizzical and calculating. They then turn to mom, and his voice raises, and he speaks clearly and authoritative.

"Let's go."

* * *

_A/N: Yay, the much awaited chapter is finally here! I hope it makes up for not updating in so long. I really am sorry for that, guys. There isn't really much more for me to write for season 4. The rest of the season is spent chopped in between the mini groups, so I don't have much wiggle room to work with. I guess there's like a chapter or two left for this. But, don't worry, I already have a LOT of season 5 mapped out! And hopefully I don't make you all wait too long for it this time! _


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: Hello, my fellow readers! Honestly, I'm not even going to apologize for being so late. I have no real excuse other than it is the end of the school year and teachers are making me do so many projects. If it makes you feel better, this chapter is the longest I have written so far for this fanfiction, and I'm very proud of it. _

_I"m super excited; there is only ONE chapter left for this fanfiction! Only one after this!_

_I only hope that I actually have it out on time lol. But, knowing me and my fucked-up schedule, it won't work out that way. I have a kind-of, sort-of schedule set up for this whole project of mine. After I finish this fanfiction, I'm going to re-write a LOT of, "The World We Live In." Honestly, I'm embarrassed of that work. I'm going to change things up, and fix this and that. Then, by the time that's done, I hope that season 5 of TWD gets on Netflix (That's my only TWD source,) and I'll write that out. I'm super excited to write that out. I have so much planned for Alyssa and Carl in there! _

_Before I forget, There is something a bit serious that happens in this chapter. In the episode, "A," of the Walking Dead, there is an almost rape-scene. One of the people from Joe's group attacks Carl, and he tries to. So, just a warning. Thought it was important to warn about._

_Okay, end of my author's note. Onto the chapter!_

* * *

We walk.

And walk.

And walk.

Then we walk some more.

It is the same routine, day in and day out. I don't know how many days it has been. A week could have gone by. Maybe two. Hell, a whole month could have passed and I don't realize it.

There isn't much the four of us have done. It has been the same very single day. We jump between following the tracks during the day, and moving into the woods during the night. We pass by a few signs that the group, "Terminus," has put up by the tracks. Each says the same thing.

_THOSE WHO ARRIVE, SURVIVE._

We seem to be getting closer, but I am not so sure about that. The schedule that mom, Rick, Carl, and I have is almost the same each day. Follow the tracks. When the sun is going down, we head into the woods for cover. The only way that it is changed is if we find a herd, or if we need to find some supplies.

We are running low on those. Dangerously low. We each have one meal a day. That meal almost always consists of a gulp of water and some crackers. Maybe even a can of peaches, if we're lucky enough. But we haven't found much these last few days (or was it weeks?) and I think it shows. We're all a bit skinnier than we normally are. Bones have become more prominent in our physical appearances. Being without our normal, large group has taken its tole on us. It is almost as if we were becoming more feral. Our guards are always up. We're always watching, calculating, scrutinizing. Sure, we can be relaxed, but most of the time we have our weapons in hand and the sights are in our eyes.

We don't hold back. Not anymore.

At the moment, we are walking along the tracks again. It is a hot day; the sun is having a joyful time blaring in our eyes. It nearly makes me blind.

"We have about a days worth of water left." Rick says, in front of us. I am immediately behind him, my hand resting just above my Glock. Carl and mom are behind us. "We're lucky enough it's cooled off a little bit, but..."

He turns around and stares at Carl and mom. I turn too, and roll my eyes at the scene I see under the brim of the sheriff's hat on my head. They are on opposite sides of the tracks, and trying to balance along the beams. Both have their arms stretched out, helping them remain balanced. They are grinning as they look up at me and Rick.

"What are you two doing?" Rick asks them.

"Winning a bet." Carl answers, the bright gleam in his eye again. I roll my eyes at the answer and cross my arms, my fingers drumming along my heated skin.

"In your dreams." Mom taunts, walking a bit faster on her side of the tracks.

"I'm still on!" Carl says defensively, and he laughs lightly. He nearly loses balance. His arms flail out at his sides and his footsteps are clunky.

"Spoke too soon, wise guy." Mom laughs at him playfully. Carl manages to regain his balance within a few seconds.

"Children." I mutter under my breath, but smile a little.

"This might go on a while." Rick says, and takes a few steps to the two. "Maybe we can... Speed this up?"

"Yeah, you're right." Mom nods. "We shouldn't be fooling around. We should probably- CARL!"

She yelps his name, trying to get him to jump and lose balance. But, still, he remains on the tracks, and mom falls off the side. He turns to her, still balancing on the tracks, and smirks. "I win."

He steps off the tracks and holds out a hand. "Pay up."

She pouts at him, but grabs her duffel bag and rifles through it. Rick smiles at the scene. I can tell that he's getting antsy, as am I, but he doesn't stop them as mom holds out two candies. One is a, "Big Cat," bar. The other, a, "Crunch!" bar.

"Is that really the last Big Cat?" Carl asks. Mom doesn't answer. Carl takes his hand and moves it above the candies, stopping above the Crunch bar. Then, he moves it back just a bit more, above the Big Cat.

"Oh, come on!" Mom pouts.

"Hey, but you said winners choice!" Carl grins. She purses her lips at him as he takes the bar.

"Go ahead, take it." She pouts some more as she puts the Crunch bar back. "It's yours. You won it, fair and square."

Carl unwraps the bar and tosses the wrapper to the ground. He breaks the bar in half and hands her a piece.

She stares at the bar in his hand. He gestures to the bar. "Come on, we always share."

She looks at the bar in his hand, and takes it from him with a smile. She takes a bite out of it, savoring the sweet flavor before we begin walking again. My eyes turn forward and my steps are strong as I move between the rusted tracks.

I feel a hand grasp my wrist slightly as it swings behind me. I twist my neck around and look at the person grabbing it. It is Carl.

He holds out the Big Cat piece that he has. There is a large bite taken from it.

"Want it?" He asks, a relaxed smile on his face.

"It's yours." I say as we keep moving forward.

"Come on, I don't mind." Carl says, pushing it closer towards me. "Have it."

I look at the melting chocolate in his hand, and my hardened gaze softens. I tentatively take the chocolate from his hand and take a small bite out of it. I savor the cocoa that melts on my tongue, and smile at him.

"Come on, eat the whole thing." Carl says. I hold it back to him.

"No. It's yours."

"I really don't mind sharing."

"Eat it!"

"You eat it!"

"You eat it!"

We banter back and forth until Rick tells us to stop.

"Take it." Carl says a last time, dropping the chocolate in my hand. I roll my eyes, but finish the last bite as Rick and mom stop walking in front of us.

Rick rifles through his bag, and the rest of us are silent as we watch him.

"Looks like we'll need to go on a run." He says before shouldering the pack. "We need more food."

I nod silently, and stand in place until he zips up his bag and leads us through the familiar brush. I have grown accustomed to the wild now. I'm not saying that I know it like the back of my hand, but I do know how to make my way through them and catch game when I can. The large trees provide a sense of cover, so I feel safer in them than I am when we walk along the tracks. I never feel protected near them. I feel almost naked without the green coverage of leaves above my head.

We make our way through the woods and on to a paved road about half a mile from where the train tracks are. We look around at the street, seeing all of the buildings on the road. There aren't many of them. From what I can see, there is a small pharmacy on the far right, an old pet shop across from it, a restaurant and bar, and a few scattered houses around.

"Okay, we split up here. Alyssa, you and I'll go to that house on the left. Michonne, Carl, you two get that restaurant." Rick orders us. We all nod, agreeing silently with the demands. "We meet up here in about twenty minutes. Got it?" Again, we nod. "Good."

The group disbands, and we all walk to our destinations with our partners. Rick and I make it to an old, light yellow house. It isn't big; it looks like a two bedroom building. I'll be surprised if there are two bathrooms on the inside.

"Ready?" Rick asks me quietly as we get to the door. His hand is on the knob, and it doesn't look like he's having trouble twisting it. Whoever lived there left it unlocked. In his other is his Python, which is pointing at the wood in front of us. I nod to him and hold my Glock out defensively and point it at the door. He nods in agreement and counts off, "One, two, three!"

He pushes the door open, and in an instant both of our bodies walk over the threshold, and we point our guns in front of us. He turns to the right of the house, I turn to the left. Nothing.

We look around the room we just went into. It looks like what used to be a living room. There is a large tv on the left, with a circular wooden coffee table in front of it. There is a large, red plush couch and love seat to the right of the room. Small pillows adorn the couches.

"I take right, you take left?" Rick asks. I nod, and lower my Glock a fraction of an inch. My Glock is finally in my right hand, my normal one. My shoulder has gotten much better over the last few days (or was it weeks?) and I've begun to use it again. I make sure to work out the muscles each day so they stay strong. Most of which are minuscule tasks, but I know that, if anything happens, it can take the rebound of a shot well enough.

I can't hear any movement besides me and Rick, but it doesn't mean that the house is completely vacant. Rick pounds his fist against the wall, luring any walkers to the front of the house. Nothing moves.

Hm. Interesting.

I make my way over to the hall that is down the left as Rick goes to the kitchen on the right. There is barely a hall where I move to. Just a small little walkway that has the openings of two rooms: a bedroom and a bathroom. Connected to the living room is a kitchen through an open doorway that Rick is rummaging through. First, I go into the bedroom. The sheets of the large, king-sized bed are made neatly. The pillows are set up at the head of the bed perfectly. It is as if there wasn't an apocalypse. The room is made without any mess ups. Completely neat.

It makes me shiver.

So odd, it is. Why would someone even bother to take the time to clean up their room? I toss the thought aside and look through the drawers. No clean clothing that would fit anyone in our group. I trifle through the small bedside table that a lamp perches atop on. I find a notebook, a called ballpoint pen, and a set of double A batteries. I smile. They will work in the flashlights we have.

I take the batteries and stuff them in my pocket. My next stop is the bathroom. I walk through the "hallway" and move to the closed door. I take my knife out of its sheath and hold it defensively in my right hand. I open the door with my left.

My nose instinctively wrinkles at the smell of decaying flesh. A disgusting, _very_ distinguished scent that I have smelled so often these days. My eyes scan the bathroom and I find a walker, or at least the rest of one, lying limply in the porcelain tub.

It slowly turns its head to the left, where I am standing. It begins to growl weakly at me, and its arms move from its sides in a futile attempt to make a meal out of me. As the walker growls, I notice the red that stains the top of its shirt. There is a large slit across its throat, where the blood came from. The sight of the large, killing gash makes me uneasy. Then I notice the writing on its arm. The person, while alive, cut the words, "FORGIVE ME," on their forearm with a razor blade. The bloody tool rests on the floor beside the tub, stuck in a dried pool of red. A knife lies in the walkers lap, in a mess of red too.

"Oh, I'm sorry." I whisper, even though I know that the decaying body in front of me can't comprehend the words I speak. In fact, they just rile the corpse more, but I can't help myself. "I'm so, so sorry."

I take small, baby steps to the tub. The walkers' creamy, lifeless eyes stare up at me as its jaw clenches and unclenches. I bring the knife down into its skull, effectively putting the soul out of its misery. The head twists to the side, and limps. No longer moving. No longer in pain. I yank out my knife, and wipe the blade with the end of my shirt. So much for keeping it clean.

"Hey." Ricks strong southern drawl grabs my attention behind me. I jump at the sudden sound, but resheath my knife and address him with a quiet, "Hey."

"You okay?" He asks, his piercing blue eyes looking at my face. He is standing behind the threshold of the door, looking in. I can see that his back hasn't been filled much. He probably didn't find anything.

I quietly nod. "Yeah, it's just..." I shake my head, thinking that it is best to not speak. "Yeah, I'm fine." I walk over the threshold of the door. Before I continue my stride, Rick rests his hand on my shoulder, a silent way of telling me that, "It's okay." He pats my shoulder roughly twice, the way he would with Carl. I smile at the gesture before he and I walk to the living room.

"Find anything?" He asks me. I grab the two double A batteries from my pocket, grinning proudly. He takes them from my hand and puts them into a small pocket on the side of his backpack.

"How 'bout you?" I ask as I fiddle with the rim of the sheriff hat. It still feels like a foreign object on my head, but I have begun to get used to it. Rick opens the main flap of the pack, showing off two whole cans of beans and a few pieces of plastic utensils. Not much, but hey, it is food.

"Food!" I exclaim with a smile. He nods and puts the zipped up pack back on his shoulders. We meet up with mom and Carl outside. They have a bit more luck than we do. They found a few water bottles.

The four of us trek our way through the familiar forest again, to a nice cozy clearing that we deem safe enough to set up camp at. Rick sets up a small barb of wire around a few trees, just to slow down walkers if they get near us. Almost like a safety circle.

While he continues his task with the circle, mom, Carl and I have the task of making a fire. We make a small circle of rocks in the middle of the large circle that Rick is making. We toss dried leaves and sticks that we deem will start a fire, and start it. Just a few small flames to heat up our food. When the perimeter is set up and the flames are high enough, we all grab long sticks and make makeshift prongs out of them to hold the cans of beans.

"How hungry are you, on a scale of 1-10?" Rick asks Carl.

"15." Carl answers, holding a can of beams above the fire, roasting them. Rick turns to me.

"22." I say, looking through Ricks backpack to find spoons. I am successful in my endeavor.

"28." Mom says, roasting her own can of beans. There is only two, which means that we all have to share.

"Yeah, well, it's been a while." Rick says as I pass out the spoons.

When the beans are cooked (at least, warmer,) Rick opens the cans. He and mom share a can, and Carl and I do the same. I manage to get the first bite out of the can, and savor the taste of the beans. They are not the best flavor, but food is food. At least we have them.

The second Rick and mom finish off their can of beans, Rick stands up. "I'm gonna go check the snares."

"Can I go with you?" Carl asks, dropping his spoon into the can. I pick up the spoon and thrust it at him.

"Put it in a paper towel or something. Don't just leave it in the can." I say, and he takes the spoon.

"Jeesh, it's just a spoon." He mutters, but proceeds to put it in a loose paper towel from his bag.

"In my beans." I say, poking him in the arm with the end of my spoon. I then shovel the last bit of beans from the can into my mouth, savoring the last bit of flavor I would taste for a while.

"Can I go with you?" Carl's asks again as he stands.

"Well, how else you gonna learn?" Rick says, a small smirk playing on his lips, which are hiding under the scruff of his large beard.

The three of us stand up, and I brush loose dust off of my old clothes. It really is a pointless move; it is almost as if the dirt is permanently glued to my layers.

Together, Rick, Carl, and I kick dirt, dead grass, and weeds onto the small flames of our feeble fire, effectively putting it out.

"Hey, you, too." Rick says to mom, and she begrudgingly gets up from the ground, and she slings her katana to her back.

We then begin our small trek through the familiar tree line, to where we were only a few days ago. We set up a few small snares in the grass (by _we_, I mean Rick,) to try and catch some game. They have all been empty, but each day we check up in small hopes that they will catch at least something small for us to munch on.

As we walk, Carl slips his arm through mine, locking our elbows together before he puts his hands into the pockets of his new navy blue sweatshirt. I don't mind though. I enjoy the comfort of him being close to me.

Rick walks over to us, his hand hovering above his Python, as it always is nowadays. "We'll stay another day or two, get some more rest."

"Finish healing up?" Mom asks, though the tone in her voice says that we're not doing anything until Rick is rightfully so. It's the motherly tone she used with me, back when I used to act like a child. She uses it to me even now when I'm stupid.

"I'm almost there." Rick shrugs his shoulders. I can tell by such body language that he, though slightly annoyed that we haven't made much headway to Terminus, is still comforted that mom is watching his back. I feel the same way, since I know that what she had said was meant for both of us. My shoulder is almost completely healed now, so she doesn't worry about as much as she does the sheriff.

"We're close now, right?" Carl asks.

"To Terminus?" Rick replies. I force myself not to roll my eyes. _No, Rick,_ I think, _To the carnival._

"Yeah." Carl nods.

"We are."

We continue walking in silence for a few minutes. There are hardly any sounds. Just the rustling of the four of us, making our way through the fallen leaves and broken branches. It unnerves me as much as Carl, who begins to break the silence.

"When we get there, are we gonna tell 'em?" Carl cocks his head to the side, looking up at his father as we all descend a small dip in the grass.

"Tell 'em what?" Mom asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Everything that's happened to us. All the stuff we've done." Carl says, in a big breath. "Are we gonna tell them the truth?"

Rick thinks a moment, before finding the words, "We're gonna tell them who we are."

"But how do you say that? I mean... Who are we?" Carl asks. The question puzzles me. It makes me think, more than just working on the drive I've been on.

Who are we?

It's a good question. But not one that I have an answer for.

The attention that everyone has to the question is broken by a lone walker striding in front of a large tree. It growls at us, limping in our way.

Mom walks in front of us, brandishing her katana proudly. Carl and I let go of each other, and we reach for our weapons that rest on our thighs. His hand goes to his gun. Mine goes to my knife. Rick, beside us, takes out his Python, and points it at the walker. Mom easily decapitates it in one swift swing.

As soon as the walker drops to the ground in a lifeless heap, the weapons we took out go back into their respectful places.

* * *

We continue the walk through the leaves and weeds, close to our first snare. My arm and Carl's are yet again linked by our elbows. Rick trails in front of the group. Mom strides behind me and Carl.

"There you go!" Rick exclaims, and he begins to run toward the snare. Inside the string he set up is a bunny. It is small, and frail. Its fur is a greyish color, and it hangs limply from the wire. "It's a small one but it'll do."

Rick gets to the snare and lies on his knees. Carl soon follows after, releasing my arm and sitting next to his dad on the dirt. I go across from Rick, at the other side of the snare. I've seen them before. I used to watch Daryl set them up outside the prison, hiding them in leaves and finding trails and stuff. I never made one myself, but I know a bit of knowledge of them.

As Rick tucks the body of the rabbit into his bag, he begins to teach us about the snare. Mom, not as interested as Carl and I, stands by, her katana at her side. I see that she listens to Rick as her speaks, but she does not hang to the details as we do. "So, this is just a simple slip knot." Rick takes the wire off of the ground, and puts his hand into the circle of wire. "Tie one on both ends, then tighten one side to a branch. Now," he gestured toward the ground that the snare is set up, "you see how the ground here is sort of like a funnel shape?" He then turns to us, expectantly.

I search the ground that he gestures to, and rack my brain to remember what Daryl taught me. "It's a trail...?"

"That's right." Rick nods. His hands go back to working with the wire. "That's where you want to set the noose." He sets the wire to the ground. "So you hide it with leaves, then you put sticks all around it." He haphazardly throws the leaves lightly over the wire and pats it down. "So any animals going by have to run this way, right," he puts his hand back into the slipknot and pulls, "into the trap." His hand is caught in the trap perfectly, the wire tightening around his wrist. He brandishes his tied up wrist to us, and I nod, understanding.

"_HELP_!" Someone screams, somewhere to our left. It comes out of nowhere, and it is like a slap in the face. One moment, everything was calm. Not even a second later, it sounds like someone's life is in danger.

Carl and I immediately jump to our feet. We run with each other to the sound of the man. In the midst of flight, we grab our guns and run with them.

"Carl." Rick calls, but Carl keeps running with me. "Carl, stop! Carl!"

"Liz!" Mom hisses behind me, but I ignore her. "Alyssa, get back!"

Do they not know that someone's in trouble? We can help!

Carl and I run through the trees and make our way to a clearing. From the sounds of the pounding footsteps behind us, Rick and mom have followed us.

The sounds of the mans cries for help became increasingly louder, and the moans of hungry walkers came into the mix. Their sounds are as clear as day as we make our way to help the man in trouble.

"Help me! HELP!" The man continues his desperate cries for help as Carl and I finally find the man. "Somebody help! Help me!"

He stands in a group of walkers, about a dozen or so crowding him. His hair, which is a dirty blonde, is frayed and askew. On one skinny shoulder is a backpack, not heavily filled as far as I can tell. The mans glasses, which are resting on his nose, are crooked and hanging slightly off one ear. In one hand is a crowbar, only slightly bloodied.

Carl and I raise our guns, evenly. I cock my Glock in my hands, ready to pull the trigger. Then I am pulled from the small clearing, into the side of a tree. Mom's arms are wrapped around me, holding me protectively so I couldn't move. Rick did the same to Carl at my left. I try to wrench myself away from moms grasp, but her hold is strong and she doesn't release me.

"NO!" The man screams.

"Let me go!" I hiss, continuing my futile attempt to pull myself from mom.

"No." She sternly whispers.

"We can't help him." Ricky's rough voice says, more to Carl than me. But it still pains me to hear him say such a thing. We've always helped people. That's how we got so many people back at the prison. We helped people who were on the brink of death before. Now, they aren't in our small group, and we can't help them.

I watch, my heart heavy, as the man I so desperately tried to help get torn to shreds. The first bite is at his eye, and the walker doesn't hold back. They never do. The mans' face, and his body soon after, is nothing more than a few red pieces of flesh and bone. The whimpers and cries are what pain me the most. They continue to remind me that we _could_ have done something. But we didn't. We let a man die.

"We got to go." Mom says, her voice thick but evenly controlled. She releases me and begins to run back through the familiar trees. I follow after, albeit angrily. Rick and Carl follow suit.

Our feet pound the dirt and dead leaves loudly. I curse under my breath at the sound. My mind wanders from the dead man that is now dinner to a dozen walkers. I find it doesn't do well to dwell on such things. I turn my mind back to being emotionless. It helps me cope.

We make our way hastily to the long, continuous train tracks. We don't slow down until we see about four or five walkers feasting on a dead body that lies on the side of the metal beams. That's when we finally take out our weapons and use them. I quickly trade my Glock for my knife. No need for more noise. Mom uses her katana against the undead and Rick uses his Python to beat in the faces of some walkers nearby. The herd of walkers that feasted on the lone man only moments ago has now begun to catch up with us, so we don't take long to get rid of the immediate threat that is in front.

The second the ones in front of us are dead, Rick says, "Let's go."

And we continue to jog away from the herd. As we always do.

* * *

"Thought maybe there'd be some houses down this way." Mom speaks as we trail up a paved road. "Maybe even a store."

Our group of four walks on a road, the herd of walkers long forgotten. We lost them after we moved on from the train tracks. Instead, our main focus is now on finding food and a place to stay for the night. Just the night, though. We plan to go further, to Terminus, tomorrow.

"There's got to be food around here somewhere." Mom says. She keeps trying to break the silence. Each time it only works for a few minutes before the group stops talking again.

"Hey, look." Carl points forward, to an abandoned truck that lies on the sidewalk of the road. Its head beams are broken and shattered, and there is a thick covering of dust on it, but it'll do for the night.

Mom, spotting a decaying walker on the other side of the street, goes over to it and stabs it in the head. Meanwhile, Carl, Rick, and I go to the truck and inspect the inside of it.

Each part of the vehicle is covered in a thick layer of dust. It is not the best camp setup, but it'll do for the night.

* * *

The four of us sit by a small campfire, which has barely any heat. I'm surprised it has lived this long, considering how little we put into it.

We all just had a small piece of the rabbit that we caught earlier. It wasn't enough food for all of us. I'm still hungry. My stomach is still empty.

I shoo off the thought. It was the best we could do. The best that Rick caught. At least he caught something with that snare.

The darkness looks above our heads, and the moon and shinning stars overtake what was a bright sky. Instead of a bright, vibrant blue, it is a dark, midnight shade of blue and black. I find it a pretty shade. One of my favorites.

"You two, go sleep." Rick says to Carl and I, and he points to the truck. I furrow my brows.

"I can take first watch." I reply. "I'm awake. I'm fine."

"You need rest. It's been a long few days." Rick shakes his head, and presses more. "Go. Sleep."

"I'll wake you up later." Mom adds, taking a small bite out her piece of our small Peter Cottontail. "You can get second watch and I'll take a nap."

I grumble under my breath, but stand and hop into the passengers' seat of the truck. Carl, on the other side of the truck, gets into the driver seat. I slam my door shut, but it really is a pointless gesture. The door will be open come morning and we'll be running through the woods.

I take my Glock out of my holster and lay it on the dashboard in front of me. If I need it, easy access. The knife stays in my sheath, just in case. The sheriffs' hat that is on my head gets taken off and lays in the backseat. I'll grab it in the morning.

I rest my head against the car seat, finding the cushioning uncomfortable. I wriggle around in it until I give up the task and slump back down.

Carl takes his thumb and runs it over the steering wheel, his fingers lightly gripping the edge of it and he glides on it lightly. "I wonder what it's like to drive."

I shrug my shoulders. "Ask Rick. Or mom."

"No." He says. "I mean, what is it like to drive? Having control of the car, moving the steering wheel and pushing all the buttons. Having the windows open and feeling the wind in your hair. It must be fun."

Again, I shrug in my seat. "I never wanted to drive."

He turns and looks at me, incredulous. "Never?"

"Never." I repeat the word again and shift my gaze to the window behind him. "I don't know. I never liked the idea of it. Having people in the car with you. Having to learn the billion rules of the road. Learning what the buttons do before pushing them. It just seems like a lot of work, when you can just walk."

"Well, sure." Carl puts his other hand on the wheel and grips it tightly, and he puts his foot to a pedal underneath. "It's a lot of knowledge, but it'd be worth it. I mean, look at how it's helped us so far! Who knows where'd we be without being able to drive."

"True, I guess." I nod at his words. "Do you remember how old someone would have to be to get into drivers ed?"

He shakes his head. "I don't remember. 15? 16?"

"We'll, we're both 15. We could nag mom and Rick to teach us."

"Plus, I'm almost 16. I could totally use that against them." I nod at his words, smiling faintly.

"I know I'd totally flunk in drivers ed."

He laughs. A normal, true, happy laugh. It makes me smile.

"C'mon, if anyone were to flunk, it'd be me." He smiles.

"Nah, that'd be my title and I'd wear it proudly." I smirk.

"'Course you would. But I'd totally compete for it." He continues, his voice light and breathy.

"I don't doubt it." I say, and move my head to rest on his shoulder. His arm automatically wraps itself around my shoulders and tightens around me protectively. I smile at the gesture, and snuggle into his side. He is so warm, and the heat washes over me. I enjoy the feeling of it around me. His head rests on top of mine and we fall asleep like that, lost in each other. So comfortable and sweet.

* * *

I am rudely awakened in the middle of the night. My eyes are blinking slightly, but they are still not accustomed yet to my surroundings. When they do, I notice that the arm that pounded on the door is not moms', nor Ricks'. Nor Carls'.

What the fuck?!

The shock wakes me up and my eyes fully adjust to the dark. My arms scramble to the dashboard and searches for my Glock. When my hands wrap around the familiar metal and they raise up the Glock and point towards the window.

"Carl-" I whisper his name, a tremor in my voice. I realize my hands are shaking the man at the door smiles deviously. His long, greasy hair rests at his shoulders, where the strap of a gun hangs loosely. I look at his face, where a smile has broadened. That smile on his face is nothing but sinister and evil. It makes me want to puke.

"Don't panic." Carl says instantly, but the quake in his voice isn't lost to me. I hear it and feel his back press against mine. There's a person at his door, too. We're trapped. Sitting ducks.

I take a quick head count of the goons surrounding us. There's about eight. There is at least one person on each of us. Two are pointing guns at mom and Ricks' head. There are two at our doors. And three others around, holding guns protectively up. The last person is Daryl, his crossbow in his arms and his leather jacket on his back. Normally, I would be really happy to see the hunter, to see a familiar face. But not on these terms. We are completely surrounded and I'm not sure how we can get out without being killed.

The man, old and silvery haired, with his gun against Ricks' head, is most definitely the leader of the group. They all look towards him expectantly, hand on to each word he speaks, and they don't charge until he says so.

I can't hear anything. The doors are still closed. But I can see Daryl attempting to cooperate with the gray-haired man. I can tell that he is speaking calmly and he even puts his crossbow to the ground, and holds his hands open. My heart pounds against my ribcage in my chest, and my adrenaline levels spike. I'm so worried for anything to happen. We're outnumbered. By a lot.

I nearly scream as three of the goons attack Daryl. They push him to the front of the truck and kick him and beat him. I can hear the impacts as their fists and boots connect with him.

Then the doors to the truck burst open.

The man at my side wrenches the gun from my shaking hands in less than a second. He grabs my shoulders roughly, with his disgusting, calloused hands. "Get out, sweetheart." The venom drips from his words, and I scream as he pulls me down from the chair.

"Don't touch her!" Carl screeches from his side, his arms moving to my side of the truck, but it's too late. My body is thrown to the ground, and I spit out some of the gravel. The man attacking me grabs locks of my hair, and he pulls me up against him.

Carl is next to get forcefully pulled out of the truck. The man on his side grabs him and yanks him out. I can't see it. But I hear Carl getting pounded. The sounds of the man striking Carl over and over make me scream.

"Stop! Stop!" I scream. "No! Let him go!"

"I wouldn't be worried about him, girl." The goon attacking me says in my ear. The smell of his breath makes me want to vomit. His hand searches my thigh, and it takes out my knife from my sheath. The blade of it gets held against my throat, and the tip is dangerously close to pushing into my skin.

"LET THEM GO!" Rick yells from his spot on the ground. The leader of the group still has the barrel of his gun against Ricks' forehead.

I whimper from my spot as the mans hand moves up my thigh. My heart thunders in my chest, and a loose tear falls from my eye.

"Shhh." He whispers in my ear, and his hand continues upward, moving to my exposed skin of my side.

"Stop." I whimper. His hand moves underneath the shirt, holding my waist tightly.

"Not a chance, sweetheart." He growls back. I can still hear the blows that Carl and Daryl are receiving from the other side of the truck.

We're absolutely fucked.

"Get your hands off her!" Mom screeches from the ground. I look at her through the dark. Her eyes find mine from my spot. Her dark brown irises are part angry and part terrified. My guess is that mine are full of fear.

She shifts her body on the ground, but the man holding the gun to her head just says, "You'll get yours. Wait your turn."

These people sicken me.

"Listen." Rick growls. "It was me. It was just me!"

"See," The silver haired man bends down just a bit, to speak in Rick's ear. "Now that's right. That's not some damn lie. Look, we can settle this. We're reasonable men."

The man that holds me against him pushes my body to the ground. I take this as an opportunity to try and move, anywhere. My arms thrash about, and I try in vain to scoot back. He laughs maniacally and grabs my wrists, dropping the knife the side in the process.

"First, we're gonna beat Daryl to death." The leader of this fucked group informs, a broad smile on his face. "Then we'll have the boy. Then the girl. Then that bitch. Then I'm gonna shoot you and we'll be square." He laughs.

The man on top of me easily holds my wrists in one large, bear-like hand. The other continues up my side, and onto my shoulder. He pushes my shirt collar to the side, exposing the tan skin and ugly scar of my shoulder. I scream in protest, writhing and kicking desperately beneath him.

"Stop. Your. Squirming." He growls, but laughs as he feels me try to pull my wrists from his tight grip. The hand that pulled my shirt to my shoulder reaches downward, copping a feel of me. I scream again.

"Shut the fuck up." He says, before moving his hand to his belt. Unbuckling it.

Just then, there is a gunshot. I wriggle underneath the man, turning to look at what happened. The silver haired man is bleeding from the nose, and Rick stands up, turning swiftly and punching the other leader in the face. The other is quick to retaliate, punching Rick back to the ground.

"I got him." The man says gruffly, kicking Rick multiple times in the stomach. "Oh, it's gonna be so much worse now."

My eyes move back to the man, who is grinning down at me, laughing deviously. He grabs the knife from the ground with his free hand, holding the blade against my collarbone. He pushes the tip into my skin, and I cry out in pain. He laughs again as he pulls the blade to my left, leaving a large trail of scarlet on my chest. The men attacking Carl and Daryl, from what I can hear, are still throwing punches left and right. I cannot see what is happening, but I can hear Carl's cries and Daryl's grunts.

Then there is another gunshot. And I panic.

The man is fully on top of me, and he flips my body around. He pushes my face into the hard gravel, and it cuts my cheek. One arm holds my body down. The other slides up the back of my thigh. I whimper again, and cry out as his hand moves from my thigh to my butt.

I pull my head up, groaning at the pressure the man's body is pushing onto me. I look up at what is happening between Rick and the other man. They are close together, fighting, until the other man pulls Rick close to his body. It constricts the battle, not allowing either to punch or kick.

"What're you gonna do now, sport?" The man asks Rick with a laugh.

And Rick, not even a second later, bites a chunk out his attacker's neck. The man's eyes widen, and he begins to gurgle and choke on his own blood. The red liquid squirts out of the side of his neck, which is now a river of red. Rick spits out a piece of the man's flesh from his mouth. I stop my writhing, and look up at the man. There is red covering his mouth and is splashed all over his beard. All eyes of the other group are on him. There is fear in each set of eyes as they watch Rick take a knife from the man's dead body and stabs it. He stabs the body over and over, his hands and arms becoming covered in the sticky red liquid. And I revel in the feeling that the attackers knew they were fucked.

Mom, taking the opportunity, takes the gun from the man that had it pointed at her. She shoots the gun at his chin, and the bullet penetrates his brain. His body falls limply to the floor. She then points the gun at one of the men that were beating Daryl, and shoots it. She kills the other that was beating Carl as well. Daryl, from what I can hear, kills the other by stomping on his head.

The man that has been assaulting me pulls me up. One arm goes around my stomach, pulling body close to him. The other, holding my knife, is pushing the blade against my neck again. Its tip is pushing against my skin so hard that it pierces me, and a small trail of red is being made by the other on my collarbone.

"I'll- I'll kill her." He stutters as mom points the gun at him, pure hatred in her eyes. "I'll- I'll kill her!"

"Let the girl go!" She growls, her voice tremulous.

Rick finally ends his assault on the dead body of the former attacker, dropping the bloody knife. He walks past mom, his deep voice saying, "He's mine."

I'm dropped to the ground once more, and for once the pedophilic man is not on top of me. My hands move to my chest, and the hot oozing blood stains my fingers. I adjust my shirt, moving my shoulder strap back to its rightful place, and I realize my fingers are shaking. In fact, my _whole_ _body_ is shaking. I run my fingers through my hair, attempting to mat down the mess of brown that the man had made it. My hand wipes across my cheek, feeling some remaining gravel that had scratched my skin and left it raw. There is blood smeared on my face because of it.

Mom runs towards me, holding me tightly against her chest and shielding me from the sheer brutality of Rick Grimes. But I still see it. And I enjoy watching it.

Rick punches the man in the face, forcefully. He punches the man and kicks the man, not holding back any force. He continues his onslaught on the man, until there is blood coming from his knuckles and the man is unconscious.

"Rick." I say, leaving moms arms. I take the knife that the man used against me, _my knife_, and hold it out for Rick. His eyes search mine, but he takes the knife from my hand. Then he stabs the man, over and over, never stopping. And I watch. _Happy_.

Rick doesn't stop until he is almost completely covered in the blood of his victim, and the man's intestines are finely chopped.

He drops the knife beside him, on the gravel. He stands up, shakily, and turns to us. More to me than the others.

He is quiet, for a moment. His eyes look up at us, searching each person's face of his group. They look at Daryl and Carl on the other side of the truck, then to mom. Then to me.

His hoarse voice asks me. "Are you okay?"

And I break down.

Tears erupt from my eyes like waterfalls. Sobs hiccup from my throat, and my chest heaves and my lungs burn from screaming.

I run into his arms, and his wrap around me not a moment after. We drop to the floor in a heap, and I sob into his jacket. The jacket, still covered in blood, now is getting covered in my tears. But he doesn't care. He just holds me close, and comforts me. Most would run from a man covered in blood. A man who just killed someone with only his teeth as a weapon. People would run, hide, get away from him. But not me. He just killed someone for me. He has killed to protect me. More than once.

"It's okay. It's okay." He says, his hand cradling my head, and he holds me close and tightly. "No ones ever touching you again. You hear that? Never again."

And if those words weren't a sign of his fatherly love, I don't know what is.

* * *

_A/n: Okay, that was a lot! But I'm really proud of this chapter. So, feel free to review and stuff!_


	10. Train Cars

_A/N: YAY! I LIVE! I'm finally back and I bring good news!_

_I might finally have a new schedule to work with._

_No, this is not a promise. We've all seen how well I work with those. Sorry. And my normal schedule is already full with a shitload of stuff in the week. With school homework, drama club, AND actual work, and driving lessons, I hardly ever have time to write. But I'm trying to squeeze it in. That's why I have this beauty out on display (FINALLY!) _

_This is the season finale for season four_._ I have access to season five at home, so I need to get to work on that, butttt... I'm rewriting, "The World We Live In," first. _

_*Puts hands up in surrender* I know, I know. Not what you guys want to hear. But I was looking back at it, unhappy with what I saw, and decided it needed some polishing. So I'm gonna do that. But I already have the first two chappies rewritten, so hopefully it won't take up too much time. And when I mean rewriting, I mean that some scenes are completely changed around. Like who was Alyssa's first walker kill, or how she met Michonne. It's new, and hopefully improved. I hope you all like what I've done with it. All I need to do is upload them onto the site. _

_And before I forget, I uploaded the chapter differently today. So if anything is wrong with it viewing-wise, that's why!_

* * *

We don't sleep through the night. Instead, we stay up, all of us, until the sun blares through the tree line.

Daryl and Carl look terrible. Most of the blows were at their stomachs, underneath their clothes. But their faces... Daryl has one eyes that is swollen almost completely shut. There are more bruises than cuts, but a fair amount of scarlet gashes adorn his features. Carl's wounds almost mirror that of Daryl's. One eye has become a nasty swollen purple, and blue and black bruises cover his face. The most prominent is one on his jawline, where it looks like the attacker just mercilessly beat him in that one spot until he was happy with his work.

Right now, Rick and Daryl are outside the truck keeping watch. Mom, Carl, and I are in the back, attempting to get some sleep. I can't.

"Honey, lie down." Mom says to me, and her hand lightly grasps my shoulder.

I shake my head vigorously. "I'm fine. I can stay up. You two rest."

"Alyssa, c'mon." Carl groans. "This is like the one chance we get to sleep. Take it." He, himself, lies down on the other seat, kicking his legs up and making a pillow with his hands.

I shake my head again, and tighten my grip on my knife. The blade is still a deep red and the hilt isn't much better. But, soon, it should dry and I can use it again. Holding it is just a precaution.

"Alyssa, we're gonna be fine." Mom tries to reason with me. "Daryl and Rick are outside. If anything happens then they'll take care of it."

"If anything else happens I want to take care of it too. We know there are other people out there. They could be just as bad. Or worse."

Mom sighs heavily and looks out the window.

"You know," she starts, "It doesn't help to be paranoid. Look how well that helped me."

I mutter incoherently under my breath. Her soft, chocolate brown eyes gaze at me. They aren't angry or patronizing. They are comforting. Understanding. So I sigh and scoot closer to her. She releases a breath and wraps an arm around my shaking shoulders. I breathe in the scent of her, soothing myself. Her hand on my shoulder pushes me down gently, to which I comply. Now, my head rests on her knees and my legs are kicked up on the other side of the seat.

Directly across from us sits Carl. His eyes meet my own and I give him an insecure smile.

I close my eyes, and her hand weaves through my hair slowly and softly. Another comfort. And I fall into a fitful sleep.

* * *

It was more of a nap than of actual sleeping. I woke myself up, and the group starts to continue on, Daryl included. I'm glad that our small group has finally grown a bit. Not by much, but still. It's a great addition.

Mom gets out of the car first. I stretch my arms above my head and crack my back a bit, and let out a satisfied sigh. Carl, in his seat, waits for me to get out.

I take a look at him. Not a small, little glimpse. I take a long, hard look at him. Search every feature on his face. Look through those dark blue eyes. They have hardened overnight.

Carl catches me looking at him. "What?" He demands. Even his voice had changed overnight. No longer is it the kind and playful drawl like it was just last morning. It is now rough and demanding. I don't like it.

Slowly, I move my hand to him. It reaches the hem of his shirt and pulls up, exposing some of his skin. Underneath, it is bruised. Mixes of blue and purple stare back at me, loud and strong. My hand glides very lightly over the marks, from his side to his stomach.

"You have them, too." He says softly, and I jerk my eyes back to his face. The comforting, light blue hue of his eyes returned, along with the quietness of his voice. I know it won't last, so I treasure the moment.

His hand, the one that isn't on the back of his gun, rests itself on my side. I sigh at the action. I move my eyes down, and see the damage that has been brought to my figure. Purple marks pepper my skin as well; the man's hands from last night were holding me too tight. The gravel from the ground made little cuts around, too. I looked terrible.

"I would've killed him." He says, gliding his hand around my bruises.

"Carl-" I start.

"No." He shakes his head forcefully. "I would have. If dad didn't, I would've. I wouldn't think twice about it."

"Carl, please." I breathe shakily. "I don't want to talk about it." I readjust the strap on my shoulder. I still feel violated. It makes me sick.

He looks at the ground. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to." I know what he meant. Bring back the memories.

I don't respond. Instead, I rest my forehead against his and close my eyes. I can hear him sigh, and I smile. Mission accomplished.  
We rest there, our foreheads touching and we intertwine our fingers, holding each other's hands tightly. Our knees lock together and our bodies press close. It is short, yet sweet. Something we needed.

"The hat." I whisper, moving my head to the side to look at it. The brown leather is easy to see in the truck. It sticks out from the gray interior.

"I'll grab it." Carl says, and I move away from him so he can grab it. He takes the sheriff hat and puts it atop his head, where it rightfully belongs. Sure, I liked wearing the hat, but it isn't mine. Never has been, never will be.

I hop out of the back first, Carl trailing behind me. The adults, now including Daryl, wait for us.

When we get to them, there is an awkward silence. No one knows what to say to each other since the events of last night.

Rick speaks up. "We're gonna continue on, to Terminus. If those maps are right, we're only a few hours away."

I nod in agreement with the rest of the group. And so we set on, walking along train tracks we never really stray from.

The walk is mostly silent, except for the rustling of leaves and the crunches of them beneath our feet. The heavy breaths that come from Daryl and Carl fill the air. But that's about it. No one really wants to speak.

That is, until Rick and mom start to chat. I don't focus on the words they say. Just the tone of their voices. They're calm, and collected. They don't sound mad or furious or agitated. I mean, I'm sure they are inside, but it doesn't reach their words. Rick and mom, just chatting the day away. It's a normalcy that I enjoy.

We come across another Terminus sign during our walk. This one isn't high and mighty. Someone, or something, knocked it to the ground.

"We're gettin' close." Daryl says. "Be there before sundown."

Rick nods. "Now we head through the woods. We don't know who they are."

Murmurs of agreement follow. And we walk into the brush, shielding ourselves from what may become enemy eyes.

Since we're closer, our hands automatically go to our trusted weapons. Mom's slings backward, over the hilt of the katana. Daryl always has a hand on his crossbow. And for Rick, Carl, and I; our hands hold our guns. My knife has made a home in my boot, tucked in tightly against my leg.

A few meters away from us, we can now see it. A fence. Large and tall. Protective of the fortress that is held inside. I'm not sure whether to feel elated or angry. These people have, from what I can tell, a good set-up. Now, the rest of this plays out on whether they're good people.

"We all spread out." Rick orders. "Watch for a while, see what we see. And get ready. We all stay close."

Then we silently break out into groups. Mom and Carl, Rick and Daryl and me.

"Want to stick with me?" Rick asks Carl. There's almost a hint of desperation in his voice. A desperation to keep his son close. To watch over him and make sure that he is all right.

But his desperation is shot down. Carl shakes his head, says, "It's all right." And walks off with mom. Ricks eyes trail off toward the two, a huff escaping his lips.

And then, he shut it off. Like a light switch. His face becomes monotonous and his eyes go blank. He turns toward the compound, searching around for any sign of life. From what we can see, everyone is either inside or they're dead. I can't help but hope for the latter. It would be easier that way. We'd have their compound, their food, and we wouldn't have to worry about anyone else. We wouldn't have to wonder if the people near us will kill us. All those thoughts would be put to rest.

I'm so lost in these thoughts that I don't notice Rick and Daryl moving away from the fence. The sheriff turns to the brush and spots Carl and mom hugging each other. Daryl is moving to our right, most likely scoping out the surprisingly empty compound that oh so generously offered us sanctuary. When I notice the empty spaces, I walk to our leader. He rests his side on a skinny brown tree, the bark barren of any leaf or flower that could have grown. I stop behind him, looking at the emotion showing on his face. I can't tell if it is jealousy, for his son ran to another person to confide in, or pain, that it seems that his son doesn't trust him. It's probably a mixture of both.

"You need to shave." I state bluntly.

He jumps at the sound, but relaxes once he notices it me. He unconsciously rubs at the quickly growing beard.

"Yeah, well, I kinda like it." He replies, shaking his head as if to clear his mind.

"It makes you look old."

He shrugs his shoulders. "I am old."

"Yeah, well, you don't need to look it." I say, my hand running through my hair. "So next time I see a razor, you're getting it."

"Fine."

Hmm, not the response I was looking for. He is clearly distracted.

"Fine?"

"Fine." He says again. I shake my head.

"What're we looking for?" I still attempt to get his attention.

Finally, I gain his full interest. "Somewhere to put the duffel bag. I don't want us give in there with everything on us. Things go south, we'll still have stuff to

use when we get out."  
"Mmhmm." So I search until I find a suitable mini ditch, which he and I dig into. The dirt gets trapped under my long nails and it cakes itself in the creases of my palms. Not the worst thing to get my hands on, but dirty enough for me to scrunch my nose in disgust.

Rick tosses in the duffel once we're done, and Daryl comes by to watch us toss our dirt pile onto it. Rick feels the need to explain, so he simply says, "Just in case."

* * *

Then the real work begins. Our group gathers up at the rickety fence, where we climb over and hop from. One at a time. The rust is crunchy under our palms and heels as we grasp and pull at it. First is Rick to hop over it, then mom, me, Carl, and Daryl. The moment we drop to the floor our weapons are brandished and cocked, and our eyes scour the place, memorizing every detail, noticing every exit, searching each building block. We can't afford to lose now.

We run across the burning pavement as fast as our legs can take us. It is what seems to be the side of the main building.

As I look through the self-called, "Sanctuary for all," I notice that the buildings are from an old factory. The way this set-up is built, the work area for the men.

We make it to a red door marked, "_FIRE EXIT_," and Rick ushers us inside. We hear the sound of a woman speaking inside. Her voice is projected proudly from a speaker.

"_Come to Terminus. Those who arrive, survive._"

Daryl is first to walk down the hall. The end of his crossbow is pointed in front of him as a precaution. Mom is directly behind him, her blade shining in the dark. Then Carl and I. Our guns seem measly compared to their weapons, but we still hold them strongly. Proudly. Deadly. Rick takes the back of the group. Keeping an eye on all of us. His Python is gripped in his hands.

"_Follow the tracks to the point where all lines intersect. There are maps at the crossings to help guide you through your journey_."

Daryl looks through an open doorway, glancing at the people inside. I follow suit, counting up the people, looking at their weaponless hands, seeing how they walk. They're relaxed as they set colorful thumbtacks on a map against a cork board.

"_Sanctuary for all.  
_

_Community for all.  
_

_Those who arrive, __**survive**_."

Daryl looked back to Rick and mom. They both nodded back to him. So instead of acting like rabid animals, who strolled in with our weapons pointed down to the cement flooring.

"_Terminus_.

_Those who arrive, survive_."

"Hello." Ricks hoarse voice greeted. He walked to the front of our little line. "Hello."

The people, about seven, stiffen. They look up at us, curious and scared at once. I guess people don't jump in their perimeter often. Go us.

"Well," a man at the map sets down a green pin from his hand, "I bet Albert is on perimeter watch."

I look at the man. I guess that he is Terminus' leader, the way people look at him. They unconsciously turn to him, like we are a situation to be dealt with. He is needed to fix the problem. Us.

He has short brown hair, and brown eyes. A smile is plastered on his face. Utterly fake and malicious. A beige jacket rests on his shoulders. He walks up, in front of his people, but a fair distance away from us. "You here to rob us?"

"No." Rick answers. Plain and simple. "We wanted to see you before you saw us." He sets his Python into his holster.

The man huffs out a laugh. I inwardly shiver at it. It isn't one of happiness or nervousness. There is an evil to it, as if it was maniacal. "Makes sense."

He continues on and walks to Rick. "Usually we do this where the tracks meet." He coughs a little to clear his throat and throws out his hands. "Welcome to Terminus! I'm Gareth. Looks like you've been on the road for a good bit."

"We have." Rick says with the slightest of nods. "I'm Rick. That's Carl, Alyssa, Daryl, Michonne."

Gareth silently waves at us. None of us reply to him. I grip my Glock tighter in my hands.

"You're nervous! I get it. We were all the same way." He lazily tossed his hand back to his group. He takes a few more steps to Rick. "We came here for sanctuary."

Oh, really? I couldn't tell from all of your, "Sanctuary for all," posts on the tracks.

"That what you're here for?" He asks us.

_No. I came here because I wanted a mocha latte_, I internally snarl at him. Something about him just set me off. This is not the sanctuary we were promised.

But Rick seems to buy it. So he heaves out a strong, "Yes."

"Good." Gareth nods in approval. "You found it." He tosses his head back, "Hey, Alex!" A man jumps at his names and strides over to us. "This isn't as pretty as the front. We got nothing to hide but the welcome wagon is a whole lot nicer."  
When, presumably, Alex, a man with brown curls and a smile plastered on his face, makes his way to us Gareth continues on. "Alex will take you, ask you a few questions." Alex gives us a small wave. "Uh, but first, we need to see everyone's weapons. If you could just lay 'em down in front of you."

Fuck. This.

That's not gonna happen.

Rick turns his head, looking at all of us. I shake my head, super lightly, but Rick gets my message. Mom, on the other hand, nods. Daryl gives Rick a look, but Rick takes it as a yes. Carl, on my side, shakes a little.

But, still, Rick says, "All right," to Gareth. I swear, Rick fucking Grimes. If we get in trouble, I blame this on you.

"I'm sure you understand." Gareth says as Rick sets his Python on the floor. I put my Glock down as well. Daryl sets his crossbow, mom her katana, Carl his gun.

"Yes, I do." And there's a knowing look in his eye as he stand back up. Good. He hasn't gotten too crazy. Gareth pulls his arms out from his sides, a gesture for Rick to do the same. So we all comply and hold out our arms. Gareth pats down Rick's sides, and Alex starts on Daryl.

"Hate to see the other guy." Alex remarks as he gets a close up of Daryls' figure.

"You would." Rick snapped.

Alex moved onto Carl. "They deserve it?"

"Yes." One word answer from Carl, but true all the same. Gareth moved to me. His arms pat down my sides, where he eyes the bruises around my waist. He then moves underneath my shoulders, down my back, and down my legs. His hands felt my around my boots, where I left my knife. He takes it out, the blade stained red from last nights encounter. His eyes go from my knife to me, where I remain emotionless.

"They must've." Gareth comments. He sets the knife next to my Glock.

"You have no idea." They are the only words I say inside this building. Inside this entire compound.

He steps back from us, and says, "Just so you know, we aren't those kind of people, but we aren't stupid either. And you shouldn't be stupid enough to try anything stupid. As long as everyone's clear on that we shouldn't have any problems. Just solutions."

We say nothing back, so he gives a nod to Alex to say that we are clear. Alex goes to the ground and hands mom her katana. She eyes him warily. No one touches her katana.

Daryl grabs his crossbow from the floor before Alex does. He continues on, handing Carl his gun. He take my Glock and bloody knife from the floor, making a face at the blood. He hands them to me, and I set my knife into my sheath instead. My Glock is being held tightly in my right hand as Rick receives his Python.

"Follow me." Alex flicks his hand over to the door on our left, and we follow him through it.

"So how long's this place been here?" Daryl asks.

"Since almost the start." Alex answers. "When all the camps got overrun, people started finding this place. I think it was instinct, y'know? Follow a path."

We make our way through Terminus. Past the building we just walked out of, and we follow Alex to what reminds me of a courtyard. There is a mini garden in the middle, full of flowers and a few vegetables. I can see one of the tomato plants, full of bright green leaves and shiny red tomatoes. The thought of food makes my mouth water. I haven't seen so much in one place since the prison. I can barely remember the taste of a tomato.

The inhabitants of this community walk around, glancing our way as we move around as Alex continues his story. "Some folks were heading to the coast, others out west or up north, but they all wound up here." Alex brought us over to a large grill, an older woman manning the station. She gives us a smile. Well, it is more of a grimace. It is so forced that it hurts to look at.

"Hi." She says to us as she flips a sizzling rib on the grill. "Heard you came in the back door. Smart. You'll fit right in here."

"_Fit right in here_." It rang through my head. I don't think I want to.

"Hey, Mary, would you fix each of these new folks a plate for me?" Alex asks. She gives a nod and begins to set some ribs up on paper plates. Each plate is set up with a corresponding plastic fork.

"Why do you do it?" Mom asks Alex. "Why do you let people in?"

"The more people become a part of us, we get stronger." He replies, shrugging out the answer. He grabs a plate and hands it to Carl. He gingerly takes it from our tour guide. "That's why we put up the signs, let people in. It's how we survive." He gives me a plate, and I take it with shaking hands. I know not to ever get my hopes up, but just the smell of barbecue set my senses into hyperdrive. I haven't had something cooked to eat for forever. And the heat of the rib on the plate makes me desperate to eat the thing whole.

I look at Rick behind me. He isn't listening to Alex's story. His eyes remain fixated on the people lounging around us. He's stiffened in his spot. The look becomes a glare. His hand twitches above his Python.

Shit.

That's when I notice it. The watch in Alex's pocket. _GLENN'S watch_. The one Hershel gave to him. And in that moment I know that my suspicions of this places are correct.

Rick strides over to Alex, calmly. Not a care in the world.

Then he knocks my plate from my hands simultaneously with Carls'. His hand goes around Alex's neck and his Python clicks as he puts it against Alex's head.  
Our group as one sets our weapons up. Daryl's crossbow points at Mary. Moms katana is pointed toward the inhabitants, along with Carls' gun and my own.

"Where the hell did you get this watch?" Rick hisses into Alex's ear.

"You want answers?! You want anything else?! You'll get 'em when you put down the gun!" Alex tries to reason with Rick. He even puts his hands up in a surrender.

Rick pulls them to his right. "I see your man on the room with a sniper rifle. How good's his aim? Where'd you get the watch?!"

Nothing. Just pants of pure fear.

"WHERE'D YOU GET THE WATCH?!" Rick screams into his ear.

"Don't do anything!" Alex screams to his sniper. "I have this! Just put it down! You put it down!" The sniper begrudgingly sets his weapon on the rooftop.

Alex quiets his voice. "You want to listen to me. There's a lot of us."

"Where. Did you get. The. Watch?"

"I got it off of a dead one. I didn't think he'd need it." Bullshit. Glenn is strong. He wouldn't die that easily after the downfall of our prison.

Rick pulls Alex to the rest of the group. "What about the riot gear? The poncho?"

"Got the riot gear off a dead cop." Gareth's voice came from Ricks' left. His hands are empty and open. My gun points to his head. "Found the poncho on a clothesline."

"Gareth, we can wait-" Alex starts.

"Shut up, Alex." Gareth dismisses the hostage.

"You talk to ME." Rick demands.

Gareth's hands intertwine and he relaxes in his stance. "What's there left to say? You don't trust us anymore."

"Gareth-" Alex pleads.

Gareth holds out a hand. "Shut. Up."

"Gareth, please!"

"It's okay. It's okay." He looks to the kidnapper. "Rick, what do you want?"

"Where are our people?" No more Mr. Nice Guy.

"You didn't answer the question." Gareth closed his hand. A sign. To Mary.

Rick flipped around and Mary's gun shot Alex instead of Rick. I would've missed the sign. Rick didn't.

At that moment, all hell broke loose.

Gunfire was everywhere. All of Terminus against us. It is like a switch was flipped. From community to war zone.

My gun went from Gareth to the man with the riot gear. _Glenn's_ riot gear. I shot my Glock and even though it was a large distance, I still got him to his knees in his own blood.

"Go gogogo!" Rick yells to us and we book it behind him. We run through a small pathway past the courtyard, following him as we shoot behind us. People on top of the buildings try in vain to shoot us, but either they're really bad at aiming or they're trying to herd us into one spot. We take a sharp turn to our left, running through a small garage area. The gate in front of us closes and the people behind us attempt to shower us with bullets.

"Over here!" Daryl yells at us, and we run to a gate on our right. We pull at it but it doesn't budge.

"Shit." I mutter.

Our herd then runs as one to a door on our left. This one opens, leading us to the back area of Terminus. Rusty cars and boxes litter the floor. It almost looks inhabitable. But the gunfire from above disagrees with me.

We continue our marathon through the empty walkway, past buildings and we see an opening.

Dead bodies litter the ground. Intestines, ribs, mangled corpses everywhere. Tossed out. I'm surprised I don't puke at the sight.

We have no time to look at it anymore. The bullets get too close for our liking and we continue on through the not-so-safe-sanctuary. We end up at a cluster fuck of train cars. And we hear voices. People screaming from inside them as they hang in the metal.

"Let me out!"

"Help!"

"Get me out of here!"

What. The. _Fuck_.

"The hell?" Daryl voices confusion.

"Keep going!" Rick urges us to go on, so we do. We find a door on the side of a nearby building that we run into.

Candles. Candles everywhere. They hang from the ceiling and are set on trays and little statues surround them. Tiny little memoirs, or _trophies_, rather, hang around the candles, with names written over them. Necklaces, cards, wallets. And on the walls, in _blood_, is,

"_NEVER AGAIN.  
_

_NEVER TRUST.  
_

_WE FIRST, ALWAYS_."

"What the hell is this place?" I gasp.

"These people, I don't think they're trying to kill us." Mom says.

"No. They were aiming at our feet." Rick concludes.

"They're herding us." I say.

Rick points to the wall directly across from us; a door that's slightly ajar. "There."

So we make our hurried way over to it. Then the door closes from the outside. I mutter incoherently under my breath.

"There." Daryl points to the wall on our right. This door is closed, but as gas as I can tell there's no one attempting to keep it closed.

So Rick growls, "Go!" and we make our way out the room of terrors.

We are immediately met with gunfire at our feet. The cracks of the bullets hitting the ground fills my ears as I run in between the building we just left and recently burnt wood that sits defeated on the ground.

And then, "Shit."

They stuck us in a corner of the fence, completely open. Completely exposed. Hiding behind the chain-link is a row of men, all armed with strong, deadly rifles. To our right is a train car. To our left is the end of the fence. On the rooftops behind us, there are snipers trained on us. My guess is that they are ALL willing to use deadly force this time.

And, for the second time in two days, I am truly afraid for my life.

"Drop your weapons!" Gareth yells from a rooftop. I jerk at the sound of his voice. And I think, _I'm going to die. We're going to die._.  
"Now." Gareth says, little patience in his tone. I huff what I think are my last breaths and stare at mom. Her stance has stiffened and her eyes train between me and the killer on the roof. "NOW!"

In unison, we all drop our weapons. I don't make a move to take out the knife in my boot, hoping that he won't remember in the heat of the moment. I pray silently that he'll focus on the larger weapons; the crossbow, the katana, the guns. But my wish doesn't come true.

"The knife too, sweetheart." He calls. I close my eyes and let out a frustrated sigh, and take the last piece of protection from my leg.

"Ringleader, go to your left." Gareth announces, speaking of Rick. "The train car, go."

Rick stares at the rusted red as Gareth impatiently adds, "You do what we say, the boy goes with you. Anything else, he dies and you end up in there anyway."

Ricks eyes are completely void of hope. They no longer have the glimmer of happiness. The replacement is desperation as he looks towards his fifteen year old son.

He couldn't take any more chances. Anything he does will be used against him, and his son. He wouldn't want anything her done hurt his son. So he walks to the train car. Slowly.

When Rick makes it halfway Gareth calls out, "Now the archer." Daryl glares at the leader of the Termites (that is what I call them, in my last moments. I need one last laugh, even if it is internally,) before his feet make him move to the left in Ricks' wake.

"Now, the samurai." Gareth announces. I find it funny that he gives us pet names. I don't laugh, for my stupidity would surely get me killed faster, but the stroke of creativity gets Gareth a funny point. Not that he's worth anything else.

Mom gives me one quick look before she moves to the left. In that look, I mouth, "_I love you_," one last time to her. I need her to know that. She is my rock. I've needed her time and time again, and there is no way in hell that I would allow myself to die without telling her, "I love you," one last time.

The three adults all walk to the door as Gareth barks out more orders. "Stand at the door. Ringleader, archer, samurai, in that order." They comply, albeit terrified. I stand rigidly by Carls' side, fearful of what could happen. Different scenarios run through my mind, a billion in a moment, thinking of how this could- _would_ end. I don't find any that resolves in us living. I look at Carl in my peripheral vision. And yet again I mouth the words, "_I love you."_

"My son." Rick calls at the train car door. "My daughter."

"Go, Mini sheriff." That was Carl's cue to leave. He wastes no time in walking to the others. I stand alone, my eyes closed, waiting for the inevitable. They were going to kill me.

"You, too, Princess."

And I release a breath that I've been holding since we were told to drop our weapons. This by no means makes us safe, but at least we are now a whole. An entity stronger than these Termites.

And I realize that I get to live, maybe for another day. That is all I need in this moment. It is all I want in this moment.

As Carl and I walk to the others Gareth gives another order. "Ringleader, open the door and go in."

"I'll go in with them." Rick defies. I plead silently with my eyes for him to just GO. If anything happens to us, it will spare him the pain of watching us fall. It will save my mother and Daryl and him. They could live through this. They could fight again. And, hell, maybe Carl will love that freedom with them, too.

"Don't make us kill them now." Gareth dismisses.

Rick fights the urge to run to us, to defy the Termite leader and get us killed. His feet travel up the sad excuse for wooden steps and pulls open the rickety door. Daryl and mom soon follow.

Our walk to the train car is slow. I want to sprint; I feel the adrenaline in my veins and my pulse quickens and the sweat that soaks my shirt make me want to run. I want to go away, anywhere. My fight-or-flight response is flight. Fight hasn't worked. I need to go.

But I can't go. I move anywhere but the car and I'll be shot. Dead. No possible way of living. And my thoughts now consist of, "_No. Not a possible answer. I thought I was dead. I'm not._

_Let's keep it that way."_

Our steps are slow and meticulous, but we finally make it to the train cart. We finally live.

Ricks hands grab us when we make it inside. One on Carl, one on me. As he pulls us to him the door behind us gets pulled shut. The five of us pull to the wall, huddled tightly together.

And we hear a thud from the other side.

Inside the train car, it is almost pitch black. The only light source we have is through the cracks on the left side, from the roof. And that light shows us who we've been locked up with.

Glenn.

"Rick?" He calls tentatively. From behind him, Maggie and Sasha step up to the light. And Bob makes his way to us, behind Sasha.

"You're here." Rick says. Despite the ultimate peril we narrowly escaped, her smiles. "You're here." He repeats, as though he can't believe it. Our people are safe.  
Others follow behind him. A woman, her brown hair pulled tightly into a ponytail, walks behind Glenn. Her stature reminds me of a chihuahua. Small, adorable, but ready to bark her head off at people she doesn't trust. A tall, muscular ginger with a scruffy goatee gives us a sharp look from his side of the car. Another woman, presumably of Latino descent, looks at us under the flap of her hat. And one more man hides behind the rest. I can safely say that his most defining feature is his mullet.

"They're our friends." Maggie jerks her head to the back." "They helped save us."

I give her a nod. Daryl replies. "Yeah. Now they're friends of ours."

"For however long that'll be." The ginger brushes off.

"No." Rick says, disagreeing with ginger. He steps to the door, searching through the spaces in the wall to the outside.

"They're gonna feel pretty stupid when they find out." Rick comments.

Ginger raises an eyebrow. "Find out what?"

Rick looks back to the group as a whole entity.

_"They're fucking with the wrong people."_

* * *

_A/N: And, BAM! End of season four! Hope you all liked it! Feel free to check out TWWLI for new updates to see how it has changed. I assure you, it'll be different. Maybe not right this moment, but maybe this Friday or next week. _

_Sometime in the near future, okay?_

_And, besides, I'm going to be busy this weekend at Comic Con! _

_So, yeah, all I wanted to say. I hope it was satisfactory for all of you. And I hope I'll have as many awesome followers for season fives fanfic, "Not How We Were."_


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